Highway To Hell
by sugaredkiwi
Summary: AU for DMC3 - Dante and Vergil are partners, not personal punching bags. Vergil drags Dante onto a roadtrip that has disaster written all over it, and won't explain a thing. Predicted hilarity ensues.
1. Hint Of Her Blood

**Author's Notes: **This was started a good long while ago for Paranormal 25 on Livejournal, in an attempt to explore two things: One, how would the relationship between Dante and Vergil develop if they worked together instead of against one another, disregarding most of the manga. Two: Could they survive a long, drawn out roadtrip across the continental United States without killing one another?

Still in progress.

* * *

It was a surprisingly cramped little hotel room. That had originally been Dante's thoughts on the matter, but in the end, it wasn't like they had a choice. It was either the ultra-micro room in the middle of nowhere, or the car, which...Admittedly wasn't much bigger. But the room had had a _bathroom_, questionable as it had been when they'd first entered, and Dante found himself kicked right out again as Vergil went into overdrive sterilizing it. Dante figured either he didn't need to tell Vergil how bad the types of places like the one they'd been forced into staying in were because either Vergil already knew himself, or it was better to leave him ignorant.

So Dante just found other ways to amuse himself. The town itself was _tiny_, and Dante was admittedly a big city boy. So was his brother, considering, and they were...More than out of their element, in the stopwhistle town somewhere in the middle of Mississippi. It was one of those places where a person _really wondered_ about the locals, and whether they were inbred or not. It was, and they _stared_. It wasn't like it was early in the evening, where one would expect the yokels to be out on their porches, with the way they lacked anything resembling modern living whatsoever. It was creeping up on midnight, which was the only reason they'd stopped in the first place. After all, they'd been going since two mornings ago, non-stop, alternating driving (with much slapping involved).

It was a creepy little place, and Dante wasn't the type to deny that. But he'd braved an hour, by God, walking around and giving Vergil time to do...Whatever it was when Vergil got that way. Dante wasn't sure. He _always_ got kicked out for it. But an hour, indeed, ended up being all he could stand.

But an hour later and he was back in the room, and while Vergil didn't have it quite to hospital standards, it was damn close. The room, honestly, smelled as though a can of lysol had simply thrown up in there, which made it hard for Dante to keep from gagging himself. But that was fine! It was, because Dante was tired, and had no plans to stay awake to be bothered with it. And Vergil was in a pissy mood to begin with, really, so Dante had no qualms at all about getting undressed almost the minute he'd entered, not even bothering to pass a word to the elder twin before hitting the sack (which, he noticed, Vergil had also sterilized the hell out of, but that was fine with Dante, too, considering).

The little red numbers on the clock Dante couldn't see (it was behind him) read 3:40 when he started awake, finding himself almost nose to nose with Vergil, which, while disturbing in its own right, wasn't what had spooked him. Well. He didn't think so, anyway. Vergil, of course, was out like a light, and snoring (and that bastard totally denied he snored, too), completely oblivious to the stale, dead feeling of the air in the room. Must've been nice, as far as Dante could see it. And that was funny, because it was usually just the opposite. Vergil was the light sleeper, and Dante was the one who could sleep through Doomsday and then some. But all in all, it made sense. Vergil _had_ done most of the driving to that point, and then he'd rid the hotel room of any nasties that could have lurked in a short amount of time.

Which was why Dante showed a little consideration, goddammit, as he sat up and swung his legs over his side of the bed, doing his best not to wake Vergil as he yawned and rubbed at an eye. Besides, he didn't want to deal with the flaming, pms-y hellbeast Vergil would be if he did get stirred from his 'beauty rest', and Dante really didn't want to have to put a fist through his face or anything. Really.

But whatever it was in the air made his skin crawl, and he rubbed at his arms as he shuffled across the room to the lone window, completely covered with blinds. That had been a small luxury he hadn't been expecting, with the state of everything else; a little privacy. As much of an exhibitionist as he could be, really...The people in the town were _creepy_. It reminded him of a movie he'd seen once, though the title exscaped him, and it wasn't important, anyway, as he leaned forward and pried the blinds apart with two fingers, peering outside.

The only light was from the one lightpost by the road, which, admittedly, wouldn't offer much visibility to someone who was 'normal'. But to someone like Dante (and he gauged Vergil's vision was even better, in that respect), he could see fine, even if the world was tinged amber and yellow from the streetlight. And, honestly, nothing looked amiss at all. He could see the faint breeze stirring the trees in the distance, and making the powerlines strung between posts sway ever so slightly, and if he listened hard enough, he could hear the rustle of leaves, and cars on the highway, a few miles away. It seemed, for all practical purposes, like any other calm, clear night in some nowhere small town.

Which completely didn't explain the feeling that had him on edge and his skin trying to worm its way right off of his bones. He glanced back into the room, frowning, before turning once more to the window, wondering if he wasn't just hyped up on excess energy at being trapped in a car for two days straight, because Vergil was still dead to the world; that wasn't normal, really, if something really _was_ wrong. Vergil would have been the first on alert for that, right? Right.

Besides, Vergil's senses were way sharper than Dante's, and if Vergil wasn't up in arms about it, there was nothing to worry about. Dante nodded a few times to himself, as though that would convince him that's all there was, before shuffling back for the bed, keeping as quiet as he could. If there wasn't anything to worry about, there was no reason to wake Vergil until he did so on his own. And Dante knew his twin, probably too well, in every respect: It probably wouldn't be another two hours before Vergil was up and about, and Dante slept until it was _well_ past sunrise. And as it should be.

Of course, that thought didn't stop him from tugging Ivory from the holster on his jacket and taking it back to bed with him, stuffing it under the pillow before crawling back in himself. While a gun, really, seemed like a ludicrous weapon to have on hand if it was something like Dante was imagining, Dante, of course, knew better in that respect. Vergil could hate them all he wanted; they were built and equipped for taking out the supernatural.

Several moments passed, while Dante forced himself to relax where his muscles had threatened to lock themselves, in a state of readiness, because really. He was a little old, and a little in the wrong line of work, to get spooked by the _dark_. And that, really, was beginning to look like all it was. Of course, having Vergil _right there_ wasn't helping with the relaxing part, but he damn sure gave it a go. Vergil was _breathing_ on him, though, and that made his skin crawl more, and he shifted, putting his back to the elder twin in order to better ignore it.

One hand slid under the pillow, to get a grip on his gun, and he found himself staring at the wall, ears pricked for any sound out of the ordinary. He had expected to hear rural sounds, in such a small farming town; things like owls and frogs and God only knew what else that lurked out in the woods a scant acre from the tiny motel, but there was nothing. Letting out a breath, he concluded that had to be it. It was just the absence of the sounds he'd been expecting that had him so unnerved, and that was silly. He almost laughed at himself for it, before shutting his eyes and trying to force himself back to sleep.

He'd almost managed it, too, before he was nearly knocked right out of bed as Vergil bolted upright, out of a sound sleep. To Dante, that was a bad sign, if a little late in coming, the slow-assed bastard. Less comforting was when he realized Vergil had kept Yamato right next to his side of the bed, and that that was the first thing the elder twin reached for before his feet had even hit the floor.

It didn't take him long to scramble after him to his own, bringing Ivory with him as he went, before a finger was firmly shoved into his face, on level with the tip of his nose. His eyes crossed a moment, as he focused on it, before he shook his head and scowled, already opening his mouth to protest. He knew what the finger meant. He did. It meant Vergil was about to go steal all the fun, if there was anything out there at all, and there Dante had been the one jittering around over it while Vergil had went about sawing some serious logs.

And that just wasn't going to fly.

Vergil didn't even glance at him, as he shifted Yamato to the hand that had pointed a finger so ominously at Dante and reached for his jacket. "Stay here." Did he think Dante was going to listen? Of course not. That was just going to be the younger twin's only warning, which was something Dante himself was very well aware of. Not that he cared or anything. Vergil's jacket was yanked on, and the elder twin was moving, barefeet, no shirt, and all. Which, to Dante, said it was _twice_ as bad. Vergil? Going out and about for whatever it was looking less than perfect? Big trouble.

Which was why Dante wasted no time yanking on his own jacket, hot on Vergil's heels out of the door. No. Vergil was not stealing it all for himself, because whatever it was had woken him from a _sound fucking sleep_, and it didn't matter if Vergil thought he was king of the sandbox or some shit. Still, it was nice to have some confirmation that he wasn't just going flat-out insane...Even if that confirmation came from the biggest tinfoil hat wearing loony he knew.

That was also perfectly _fine_. Because as batshit as Vergil was in most situations, Dante was...Well, some would call him a dumbass for it, and maybe they were right, but he _trusted_ Vergil, when it came to their area of 'expertise', as it were. He truly did. Dante was, after all, well aware of the fact that if anyone was going to lay a smackdown on him of any sort, Vergil had it in his head that it would be him, and only him, that did so. Oh, Dante acted like he was oblivious to that, but it was a mutual feeling. Which was why he wasn't worried at all. Well. Unless it happened to be something even Vergil couldn't handle, and then he'd be fucked.

He pointedly didn't think about that.

The motel was set up so that every room door opened to the parking lot, with the office in the middle of them. Dante hadn't noticed it earlier, but it was painted pink, too. Disturbing that, but then, they'd both decided beggers couldn't be choosers when it came to stopping for the night. The office itself was where Vergil was headed, and Dante plodded along behind him, Ivory still clutched in one hand.

The red and blue neon sign outside the door flickered as they approached, buzzing in hitches into the otherwise quiet night, before Vergil paused and held up a hand to signal to Dante, cocking his head slightly to the side. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, so that even Dante was forced to strain to hear him over the sign. "Consider this a note for the future." He glanced over his shoulder at Dante, eyes slanted in slight amusement. "Bottomfeeders prefer to have rural hunting grounds, as their prey can be contributed to the attacks of wild animals, unlike the city."

As if that made any sense whatsoever, and Dante's look said it all, before he rolled his eyes. "Uh huh."

Vergil snorted, realizing passing on anything to Dante was a lost cause, and reached out, grabbing Dante by a shoulder before he could react, bouncing up on the ball of one foot and slamming the other into the door, snapping the lock and sending the door flying inward with the force.

And, of course, he wasn't disappointed, or wrong, in his assumptions. There, in the middle of the small office, the rolling chair the desk attendant had been slouched in rolled to one side, was such a creature; blackened, scaley skin covered its long emanciated form, where it hunched over said attendent, who was smeared from one end of the office to the other, the lightbulb overhead doused in blood so the whole room glowed an unearthly red. It was a nasty thing, with spikes along its spine and long, claw-like webbed fingers, the bottom half of its anatomy shaped like some sort of rodent, with its legs bent at an angle far too sharp to be remotely human.

So engrossed it had been in its impromtu meal, it hadn't even acknowledged the two in the doorway; Vergil's expression as bland as could be, with Dante peeping in horror over his shoulder on tip toe. Only when Yamato was slid from its sheath with a slick click of metal did it look up with unnaturally wide, yellow eyes, blinking once, before hissing and arching like a threatened cat.

"You see? Bottomfeeder." It was meant to provoke, and provoke it did, as, with another hiss and a gathering in of itself, the thing (demon) sprang, headed right for Vergil's face.

It was simultaneous, really, as Yamato's blade bit into the thing's neck, and a bullet tore through its forehead, the ricochette unnaturally loud in the night, before thing fell with a fountaining of brackish, black blood from the stump of its neck and a thud, and Vergil snorted, spinning Yamato once and sliding the blade between his fingers before shaking them to the side, like he _always_ did, the big sissy. "Well. That was a tad anticlimatic."

"Uh, yeah, just a bit." Even if Dante was somewhat wide-eyed, where he stood behind Vergil, stuffing Ivory away against his back. Dante was no stranger to gruesome scenes of slaughter, that was very true, but the hick town motel had been the last place he'd expected to see it. Especially in that quantity. He'd have never guessed one body could hold _that much blood_, and the smell of it was everywhere, making him twitch.

"So, uh, now what."

"We raze it to the ground." It was calmly said, as Yamato slid home with a click, and Vergil moved further into the room, ignoring the blood that covered everything. "After a shower. I refuse to take to the road again like this."

"This place becomes the Bates Motel and you're worried about a fucking shower?" Dante stayed where he was in the doorway, eyes widening incredulously at Vergil, before rolling dramatically in their sockets. "Vergil. That shot has got to have been heard by every fucking body in this goddamn motel. We need to vamoose, like, now."

"They're all dead." Inspection of the office complete, Vergil turned from where he stood behind the desk, lifting a magazine with two fingers and making a disgusted face. "Filthy pig. He got what was coming for him." Dante failed to see how, after squinting and making out the title on the shiny cover, jerking off to Hustler deserved that kind of death, but he let it slide. Vergil was cracked, at any rate, and had some really odd notions about things that wouldn't get a second thought out of someone else. "Surely you feel it. We, brother dearest, are the only things living here now."

Dante paused at that a moment, sniffing around to himself. He'd figured the smell of blood was because it was everywhere in the office, but if he thought about it...He hated when Vergil was right. He really did. "Oh."

Vergil started picking his way back around after dropping the magazine, before pausing and making an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. "That reminds me. Come along, Dante, help me with something in the trunk." And with that, he pushed right past his brother and headed to the car (amazingly damage free, for now, considering Vergil's driving), with Dante trailing behind. He reached up and rubbed at his nose, as Vergil moved around (and it was then that Dante noticed Vergil had left the keys in the trunk), before it was popped open, and he gestured to something within its dark confines.

"The hell is that?" Whatever it was, it was lumpy, covered in plastic, and really...Smelled. Really. It was that sickly sweet odor of decay, and Dante, honestly, had come across it enough in his life to know what it was. "The hell is it, a dead dog? Why is there a dead dog in our trunk, Vergil?"

"Dog wouldn't be far off." Vergil reached in and flipped back part of the plastic, which Dante recognized as a shower curtain lining, before giving a concealed heave and backing off a few steps, one hand clamping over his nose and mouth.

"The fuck."

"She was in the matress." Vergil glanced back at Dante, the corners of his mouth twitching in sadistic amusement at Dante's display of a weak stomach. "A prostitute, I imagine. Don't tell me you've never heard the urban legend, little brother, of whores being stuffed between matresses after their oh-so upstanding clientele kill them."

Dante gave a cough before waving his hand in front of his face, grimacing. "Yeah, I heard it. But why the fuck did you put her in the fucking _trunk_? How the hell are you gonna get the _smell_ out?"

"Febreeze. Don't be stupid." The plastic was flipped back over the corpse, and Vergil moved to one side, shifting it around to lift it out. "Grab the feet. We'll leave it in the office so it will burn, too." When Dante hesitated, Vergil shot him a glare, and snapped, "Don't dawdle. I want to be gone from here by dawn."

Dante reluctantly moved forward, holding his breath as he drew closer, before grabbing the plastic wrapped feet, and together they lifted the body from the trunk, and started for the office once more. "Dear Jesus, this bitch is heavy." It was said with a stifled sort of voice, because Dante refused to breathe, especially through his nose, as long as they were carrying her.

"You're carrying the light end, you big baby." It was said on a grunt, as Vergil gave a slight shove, making Dante stumble where he was walking backward. "I imagine it's all the silicone she had shoved into her chest. She reeked of it where she was stabbed."

"The fact that you got close enough to smell it worries me, brother o' mine." That earned Dante a dark look, which he returned with a tight-lipped smile, as he backed into the office, feet almost slipping on the blood-slicked floor. Once far enough in, the body of the unknown prostitute was dropped unceremoniously onto the body of the desk attendent, and they were headed back to their room once more, Vergil making a pit stop to slam the trunk shut, and informing Dante they'd worry about the smell when they were ready to leave.

And then promptly took the shower first, after they'd made their way into their room once more, leaving Dante with gathering everything together and hauling it out to the car (Dante's pride and joy, a '70 Hemicuda, fully restored and detailed, which was why he was glad it was damage-free). By the time he was finished - because Vergil had a lot of shit - Vergil was out of the shower and getting dressed.

"You're driving." Because Vergil was horrible on a stick. "You shower, I'll ready everything to burn it, and then we are _leaving_." Really, like Vergil would have to tell him twice. The only hitch in that plan was the fact that Vergil had used all of the hot water for his own shower, and Dante was stuck rushing through one that went from luke warm to freezing in the short time he was in there. He dressed just as quickly, to rid himself of the chills, before giving the room one last once-over to make sure he'd grabbed everything and stepping out into the parking lot, where the sky in the east was lightening to a pinkish-grey, finding Vergil standing in front of the office, playing with a matchbook from the cubby in the dashboard.

"Ready? Hey, what are we supposed to do with these?" Dante held up the room keys and dangled them at Vergil, only to be waved off.

"Keep them as a souvenier." It was said with another sadistic twitch of his mouth, and Dante scowled at him, before shoving them back into his pocket and making his way to the car, before sliding in and cranking it, hoping Vergil realized that, with a car like that, it would take a minute for the engine to warm before it was completely ready to be put through its paces. And, he supposed, at least the actual interior of the car didn't contain a hint of the smell of decay, even if it did smell a lot like Febreeze and leather. That was ifine/i.

He watched Vergil step inside the office for a moment, as he gave the engine a little gas, already moving to pop the clutch and slide it into reverse, one foot moving to the gas, one to the brake. If they were going to get out of there in a hurry, by God, Dante was going to do it _right_.

It was a few moments, before Vergil appeared once more and started making his own way to the car, as casually as Dante had ever seen him do anything, even if the office behind him had a strange orange glow in the few windows. When he climbed in himself, almost as if they were out for a Sunday drive or some shit like that, Dante only offered a, "You might wanna buckle in," before letting off of the break and giving the steering wheel a hard twist, nearly flinging Vergil into the dashboard when he slammed on the brake once more.

"Idiot," Vergil snarled, only to get Dante's arm as a brace to the chest, forcing him back in seat.

"I told you, baby, you might wanna buckle in." Before Vergil even had time to retort, like Dante just _knew_ he wanted to, he was slamming into first and beyond, feeling the engine protest at the abuse before responding. Oh, they were going to leave marks, sure enough, but that was okay, too! It wasn't like Dante was dumb enough to use tires with a distinctive tread pattern, with all the shit he got into.

It took a bit of backtracking, making way for the onramp to the highway, and Dante glanced over a Vergil before pushing a button on the radio, because he _knew_ his brother, and he _knew_ it was going to be a long damn drive, and he was going to at least have music for it, no matter how Vergil turned his nose up at 'the sorry excuse for noise' Dante called music.

"So. Where to." Vergil looked like he was going to be sick, all from Dante's driving, and Dante reached back to the slit pouch on the back of Vergil's seat, finding a bag he'd stuffed there, just incase of something like that. "Here. Don't puke in my goddamn car, or you'll be walking."

Vergil gave a slight growl, a corner of his top lip pulling back to expose fang, but took the bag anyway, even it a little grudgingly. "Just head east." There wasn't any destination in mind, anyway, and that, at least, gave them a starting point. "And for the love of God, drive like a normal human being."

"Um hm." Which meant Dante wasn't going to listen at all. 'Drive like a normal human being' in Vergil terms meant drive like a granny, and that wasn't happening. Ever. "You sit back and let me handle this, douche. Catch up on your beauty sleep." It was accompanied with a smartassed-grin, which earned a half-hearted glare.

Oh, it was going to be an _interesting_ trip. Of that, Dante had no doubts whatsoever.

* * *

**Author's Notes, Round Two: **About the car. It's a 1970 Plymouth 'Hemi' Cuda, a take on the Barricuda that contained (I believe) the mopar Hemi engine. As I understand it, and have researched (considering I may be purchasing a similar car), for the most part they're automatic. However, how much cooler is it that Dante swapped that for a manual transmission, amirite?


	2. Conspiracy Dirge

**Author's Notes: **Part two of the Roadtrip Of Doom (tm). A few notes about this chapter: The grimoires mentioned are not the kind you can pick up from Barnes and Nobles for eight bucks. These are the real deal (some bound in human skin, some written in blood, etc).

Once again, still in progress.

* * *

The next stop was Alabama. Dothan, to be exact, not far from Alabama's border shared with Georgia, because Florida had been pegged as the next 'big' stop (and the first, but Dante wasn't counting). But instead of cutting through the southern half of Alabama to the Florida Panhandle, it had been decided they'd make their way into Georgia, catching I-75 the rest of the way down, since it was the only major highway remotely in the area Dante knew with any sort of certainty. He'd only been below the Mason-Dixie line a few times in his life, which was why the entire situation was ludicrous to begin with, but that was okay.

It was while they were still on the highway, passing signs alerting drivers to the distance left to Dothan, Vergil, who'd awoken from a three hour nap, snickered to himself upon seeing one, before rolling his eyes. "That's so quaint."

Dante hadn't even been aware the fucker was awake, and had gone into a type of...Road hypnosis, starting enough to jerk the steering wheel almost hard enough to move them to the next lane. Which would have been bad, considering the traffic still present on the highway in the growing dusk. "What the fuck are you babbling about."

"Dothan." At Dante's clueless, uninterested look, Vergil snorted, waving a hand slightly back in forth in the air as he spoke. "'Then the man said, "They have moved from here; for I heard them say, 'Let us go to Dothan." So Joseph went after his brothers and found them at Dothan.' Dante, I'm frankly ashamed you don't know your Bible verses. _Shamed_, brother." The hand was waved to dismiss Dante, as Vergil went back to looking from the window once more. "Of course, it makes absolute sense that here in the middle of the Bible Belt one would find towns with names that are biblical references. They are so completely trapped in that hypocrisy, after all."

"Uh huh." Fucking nutcase. "That's mighty special of you." Dante didn't care. He didn't. He cared about stopping for the night, not whatever the hell the town was named after. Which was why he pointedly ignored the dark glare Vergil shot him and leaned over, nudging the volume on the radio up a bit. "Fucking sucks, man. All I can pick up is the fucking classic rock stations." It was said more to himself than anything, but oh. Oh. He knew Vergil would have something to say to it. Vergil had something to say to _everything_. That was part of the bitch of being caught in the car with him when he wasn't asleep. And he knew why Vergil slept so much. He did. It was because Vergil was a _wuss_ and got _carsick_, and that, for whatever reason, struck Dante as being hysterical.

"Well, Dante, I advise you to look around and realize where you are. I imagine you feel right at home, with the uncultured country bumpkins that just _overpopulate_ the south." Which proved right there that Vergil was an asshole. Not that Dante questioned that at all, but his smug little smirk made Dante want to reach over and slam his head into the passenger window, just to watch it bounce off. But he refrained! He did, though the hand that had gone back to resting on the knob of the gearshift tightened until the moment had passed. Vergil? Was one lucky son of a bitch, in the sense that Dante wasn't looking to splatter blood on the car's interior.

Instead, he snorted, returning his gaze to the highway. "Aw, baby, why you gotta be like that?" He waggled the fingers of the hand that rested almost negligently atop the steering wheel flippantly, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you do something useful and look through that thing I picked up. Figure out what hotel's not gonna suck." He nod-gestured to the cubby in the dash, where he'd tucked the little booklet away, along with a slew of other miscellaneous items, including a lighter, no less than three matchbooks, half a bag of Skittles, bottle caps from the soda bottles littering what space there was in the back seat (again, Vergil had a lot of shit), and for some strange reason, a pair of needlenose pliers.

At least Vergil was wise enough not to look in the glove compartment. He would have been severely disturbed. Instead, he made a noise in the back of his throat and extracted the booklet, settling back cattycorner in the passenger seat with his back resting against the frame of the door (he was lucky that shit was locked, Dante noted), flipping through it idly. "Oh, this is just disturbing." He snorted, and loudly, ticking off hotels in the negative with a finger. "It is a sad day, brother, when the most decent hotel appears to be a Courtyard Marriot." A page was turned, and Vergil made an amused noise, his mouth twitching. "Excuse me, when a _Hampton Inn_ is the most decent hotel."

"Who the fuck _cares_." God, Vergil was such a snob. He really, truly was. Like he had any room to say anything, after the disaster that had been their first motel. What, with the hooker in the matress, the _Deliverance_-esque townspeople, and the fact that they'd _committed arson_ to get rid of the evidence of a demonic attack...Yeah. Dante would have happily taken to sleeping in the car, if it meant not having to deal with shit like that. "Is it a hotel where we won't find a hooker in the matress? Because that's all I care about it." It wasn't like Dante was the one paying for it to begin with, anyway. That was _all on Vergil_, because the fact that they were even _doing_ this had been his idea to begin with.

Dante made a mental note to _never listen to Vergil's ideas again_.

"Baby." It was said offhand, as Vergil continued thumbing through the booklet, inwardly incredibly amused at the things he came across. "Hn. This reminds me. Remind me to find the Blumbergs while we're here. They owe me money."

"Everybody fucking owes you money." It was true. If someone had _any_ kind of name, be it in the common-knowledge base, or the smaller, more secular one of those involved in the demonic happenings of the world...They owed Vergil money. Half the time, Dante wanted to ask Vergil why he cared, for two reasons. One, Vergil was fucking loaded. Dante understood this, and yes, yes he took advantage of it, considering the events that had come about to make them 'partners' of a fashion. It made it _perfectly okay_, too, because it was Vergil's job as a big brother. Secondly, why did Vergil keep giving these people money in the first place, if all he did was bitch about it? It didn't compute. But, if Dante really thought about it, a lot of shit Vergil did didn't compute.

"So where are we headed. We're about to get off the highway, so make it _quick_, Sparky."

Vergil arched a brow at the stupid nickname, but said nothing for a long moment, as though he were contemplating. "I suppose we have no choice. The least skeevy place _is_ the Hampton." It was obvious Vergil was less than thrilled with that, but that was okay, too. Vergil was a friggin' bitch and a half, and none of that mattered. Dante reached over and snatched the booklet from him, scanning the page until he found the entry on the Hampton, for the address. Because God forbid Vergil do the sensible thing and give it to him so he didn't have to look while he was driving.

"Fine. Wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic. It could be a fucking cardboard box right now, as long as I can _get away_ from you." Being trapped in a car with Vergil for hours on end had seemed good in theory, but in practice it just pissed Dante off. He tossed the booklet back across, hoping to peg his fucker of a brother in the forehead with it, but the asshole caught it, much to Dante's disappointment. "Now we just have to find Montgomery Highway. Where's the fucking MapQuest?"

Vergil sucked in one deep, horrified breath when, after one look at the road to make sure they were steady in the lane, Dante ducked down, digging around in the floorboard under Vergil's seat for the thing. It took every ounce of willpower the elder twin had not to reach over and grab the steering wheel, for his own peace of mind, because Dante was retarded, and that proved it. And he was down there a _while_, before he resurfaced with it and tossed it to Vergil.

"Look it up, I'm driving." Because Dante hadn't just dug around the floorboard with no consideration as to him running them off of the highway at all. It was tempting, for a moment, for Vergil to smash his head into the driver's side window, but Dante was safe, in the fact that he was, in fact, driving.

Once they'd gotten off the highway and tried to _find_ the hotel, they'd gotten lost three times, due to Vergil's inability to help Dante look for street names. By the time they actually reached the hotel, Dante, seriously, was ready to strangle the bastard. He had never been so glad to see Vergil's back as he departed from the car to get a room, as he was at that particular moment, just to have a few moments of peace and quiet to sit in the car (his baby) and be _alone_. Listening to Vergil, when he'd suggested the 'trip' (which was beginning to feel more like they were outrunning something, though Dante hadn't said anything about that) had been Dante's worst idea to date. He was certain of that.

Not that he'd had a lot of choice in the matter. If he'd said no, it could have gone two ways: He'd have been out his brother, and probably his car because he knew the bastard wasn't above stealing it from him, or he'd have gotten 'kidnapped' and taken along, anyway. Because Vergil was _crazy_.

And that was the root of it all, if he took the time to think about it. Vergil was insane, and Dante was just _feeding_ that mania, every time he nodded, smiled, and promptly purged the dirty and wrong from his brain. It was a complete catch 22, and it was all Vergil's fault. Somehow, Dante was completely sure of that fact. How Vergil convinced himself when he looked in the mirror in the morning that, yes, he was functioning well in society, Dante would never know. Because he didn't. Not that Dante was exactly stable himself, but that wasn't the issue. Vergil being a psycho fucknut was.

Dante hummed to himself, tapping at the steering wheel as he looked out from the hotel, at the places around, realizing, no, they hadn't stopped to eat since leaving that disaster in Mississippi. Well. They'd stopped, for things like gas, but for food? No, because Vergil had decided to sleep the whole time, which left Dante with another situation that had been impossible to win. If he'd gone on and gotten food and let Vergil sleep, Vergil would have needled him to death about it. If he'd made Vergil wake up to eat, Vergil would have become more of a bitchzilla than he was on a normal basis.

And Vergil could say what he wanted, he was, in fact, a _bitch_. He, seriously, was worse than a woman, with _none_ of the fringe benefits.

Seeing Vergil headed his way once more just lowered Dante's spirits further, and he sighed, resting against the steering wheel and folding his arms over the top of it, as Vergil opened the car door and climbed back in, giving his older brother the most bored, apathetic look he'd probably ever managed. "Well?"

"Well, what?" It was snapped, as Vergil pulled the door closed and neglected the seatbelt, as always, even though Dante warned him_ time and time_ _again_ to buckle the damn thing. "Just...Park somewhere." His tone suggested he wanted to throw a 'minion' in there somewhere, and that he hadn't paid a damn bit of attention to where their room was even located. Lovely. Just what Dante was looking forward to, considering he'd end up carrying the majority of Vergil's shit from the car. Again: It was starting to feel more like they were running, especially with the sheer amount of _books_ Vergil had dragged with him. Oh, Dante was curious about that, of course, but the opening to ask about it just hadn't presented itself, considering.

Like Vergil would give him a straight answer to begin with.

He sighed and sat up, moving to shift out of park, throwing Vergil a half-scowl. "Man, I should fucking slap you for being fucking retarded."

"Excuse me?" The look it was accompanied by begged Dante to try his luck. It really did. Vergil, after all, was not above knocking the retarded fool unconscious against the steering wheel _and driving himself_. And he honestly hoped Dante realized that. "Aw, who has his big boy pants on today?"

And it was shit like that right there that caused Dante to grind his teeth painfully together to the point it gave him a headache. It was. And Vergil knew that shit. "Uh huh, shut the fuck up." Car parked, Dante grabbed the half bag of Skittles in the cubby and stepped out, praying to God he could at least lock himself in the bathroom for a while. The next stop they went to, Dante didn't care how much it depleted his bank account; he was getting his own goddamn room. Away from Vergil. So he could sleep and poke around and, by God, whack it in peace, without Vergil breathing down his goddamn neck. He was.

So there he was, leaned against the back driver's side, chewing on a Skittle as Vergil _finally_ clamored out (he clamored, he did, Dante'd swear), lugging one of his (many) bags with him. "Well?" Dante rolled his eyes at that. "Come on, stop standing around and touching yourself, you filthy beast."

Dante was going to put a tire iron through Vergil's face. He swore to God he was.

He'd even halfway moved to get the one in the trunk, before taking a deep breath and counting to ten. He could do this. He could! He could put up with Vergil's crabby ass for just a _little longer_, because he sincerely hoped one or the other of them would just go to sleep soon. Dante was not above using that as a method to get away from the elder twin, at all, so after reaching ten plus some change, he trailed after Vergil, to at least have an idea of where the room was, when he had to go back and start bringing in stuff. Oh, he wasn't going to bring everything in, just what he needed. And, he swore, he wasn't touching a goddamn thing of Vergil's. He wasn't. He wasn't his brother's little slave monkey.

And, of course, Vergil couldn't have anything if it wasn't on the top floor. Which was exactly where he led Dante, poking around for their room without any consideration for the other people they encountered along the way. In truth, Dante figured he'd knocked the guy down in the admittedly horrid and bright swimming trunks on purpose with his bag, not even once glancing back to see if he'd done permanent damage. Again: Vergil was a fucking _psycho_.

Next to fall victim was a cookie-cutter soccer mom, herding her kids to the elevator. She caught the bag in the face as Vergil turned around to face Dante, and that _proved_ Vergil was doing it on purpose because he had been looking right at her. "Dante." His tone actually bounced with amusement as the woman rolled around on the floor behind him, clutching her bloodied nose. "Give me the keys."

If there had been any concern for the woman whatsoever, it left at that moment, as Dante scowled and bared his fangs at Vergil, giving a slight snarl. "Ayeah, that's a negatory. What the fuck do you need my fucking keys for."

"I told you I was going to collect my money." Vergil held out his free hand, tapping his fingers to his palm impatiently. "Now, Dante. I don't want to be gone all night." The woman had rolled to her knees, one hand still pressed against her nose which dripped blood in a small pool beneath her, but neither twin spared her a glance. "_Dante_."

"Man...Fuck you." But it was said as Dante went about extracting the keys, and he took a few steps forward before slapping the keys into Vergil's hand, hard, as he brushed past. Bastard.

"Aw, look who's wibbling." The amusement was back in Vergil's voice, and it made Dante grind his teeth together painfully. It didn't help that Vergil swung a foot out and caught Dante's shin, making him stumble down the hall a few feet before he was able to catch himself against the wall, and glared back at the porcupine with pms he was forced to call brother.

"You? Are pushing my fucking buttons, cocksucker." At that, Vergil only clucked his tongue and shoved past Dante roughly, on purpose, leaving a very puffed up, very pissed off Dante in his wake, and not caring a bit about it. In fact, he cared so very little, he said not another word until he'd found their room and keyed his way inside, waiting for Dante to quit throwing a temper tantrum and follow, like the big baby he was. And sure enough, Dante trailed along behind, after taking a few deep breaths to keep from going berserk on the fucker, because really. Who wanted to put up with that kind of bullshit? No one, that was who.

However, once inside the room (a suite, though, sadly, there was still only one bedroom, and Vergil had it in his head he was punting Dante to the couch), he swung the bag onto the counter of the kitchenette before unzipping it and digging around a moment, all before he even acknowledged Dante had entered behind him and shut the door. "Here." He tossed something over his shoulder to Dante, figuring either the younger twin would catch it, or he'd raise hell because he was a butterfingers retard; either way, Vergil didn't particularly care. "To keep you docile."

Dante, luckily, did catch it, and took a moment to blink at it before realizing what it was. "Aw, I knew you loved me, babydoll." Just like his brother, really, to ply him with alcohol to keep him from bitching about Vergil taking the car. "I almost feel bad for calling you a cocksucker."

"Almost only counts in horseshoes and handgrenades." Vergil had gone back to digging in the bag, and, once he'd decided everything else was in place, zipped it shut once more before palming the car keys he'd kept hooked around a finger by the ring and turning to face Dante. "I even thought to bring you a change of clothes, muffin, so you have no excuse to be a filthy mutt. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Uh huh." It was almost a blessing in disguise, if Dante really thought about it. He had booze, Vergil was leaving, and with it working out like that, he could eat whatever the hell he wanted to without hearing the elder twin bitch about it. In short, handing over his car for a few hours or so really had started to look like an awesome idea, and he waved Vergil on as he strode past, giving a, "If you kill anybody, don't leave 'em in the trunk," over his shoulder.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for several long moments, he was content with worrying with getting the cap off of the bottle and starting on emptying it, when his eyes trailed to the bag Vergil had brought in. He didn't know why, but he was curious to see what Vergil had put in it, other than the obvious. The bottle was set aside, and he moved over to where Vergil had left the bag, glancing around himself a moment before unzipping it gingerly, as though it had some kind of alarm or ward on it. And, knowing Vergil as Dante did...That wasn't something he'd put past him. But what would be the point, if he'd put a change of clothes inside for Dante as well?

When nothing happened, Dante had no qualms about digging through the bag, making a mess of everything perfectly packed within. He didn't care, to be honest, whether Vergil would have a hissy fit because he'd bunched up his clothes in the extracting of his own (and, of course, they were clothes Dante hated, because it was obviously an attempt by Vergil to make him look 'decent'), and Vergil could flat out kiss his ass on the matter. And he was disappointed, when he found nothing of interest within, giving a snort and going to zip it shut once more, before he noticed something odd about the bottom of the bag. What it was at first, he had no clue. It just didn't seem...Level, really, and after some prodding around, he discovered why.

Inside was a flap, and when Dante gave it a tug, it revealed another level of the bottom, that was obviously supposed to stay a secret. Dante raised a brow at that and lifted the flap, finding nothing within the 'secret' compartment but a leatherbound book and a small wooden box, which he had no problem lifting out before he glanced around once more, as though he expected a pissed off Vergil to pop up out of nowhere. He set the box aside, because the book was far more interesting, and knowing Vergil, it would be something stupid stuffed inside, anyway.

The book itself was unremarkable, except for the fact that the leather cover at the edges looked worn, and it had that smell all old books did. Vergil's scent was all over it, at well, which proved it did belong to him, indeed, and after another close inspection of the outside, Dante snickered to himself, flipping the front cover open. "Never took you for the diary keeping type, bro."

But it was softly said, that irrational worry that Vergil would show up still very present.

Not that it mattered, once he started flipping through it. It was written in characters Dante didn't understand. It totally figured Vergil would be a douche enough to write his diary in code, so even if Dante found it, he wouldn't be able to _read_ it. In truth, with the dashes and such that made up the pages upon pages of whatever it was, he couldn't even identify it as Vergil's handwriting to begin with. Well, had it not been for the random dates scribbled here and there throughout, and other random, perfectly normal english words scattered throughout.

Bastard. He needed to keep it in a language Dante could understand. What fun was finding his big brother's diary and not being able to read any of it?

The words were strange, though; those that he could make out, anyway. He supposed it would make more sense if he knew how they connected, but as he flipped through, he couldn't help but feel like something was very, very off about the whole thing. It went back years; the first date was from before they'd found one another again, and the last...From right before Vergil had dragged him into the stupid idea of the roadtrip. And there was a marked difference in how it was written, from a few days before that. The last almost seemed like Vergil was panicked, because the characters and words were sloppy, as though hastily written.

Dante, quite honestly, wasn't sure what to make of it. And it certainly didn't help that growing sense of worry that all was not as it seemed.

It was with a growing sense of dread, and a tinge of paranoia (well, in his opinion it wasn't paranoia since they'd gotten everyone else but himself and Vergil) that he placed the book inside the secret little compartment once more, just as he'd found it. He couldn't read it, anyway, and it wouldn't do him a bit of good to dwell on it, anyway, since he had no idea what any of it meant. The box went in again as well, without Dante even bothering to look inside. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know anymore. The flap was placed down again, as close to how he'd found it as he could manage, before Vergil's things were rumpled up and pushed over it, as though Dante had simply dug through and pulled his own things out, before he reached for the bottle again, hitting it a little harder than would have been normal for him.

Something had happened, and Vergil wasn't telling him about it. It figured, of course, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to think on being dragged along, except that it must have been bad, whatever it was. Not comforting at all.

But he wasn't going to worry! He wasn't. He was sure (stupidly so) that if it was that goddamned important, Vergil would have said something. Or he had and Dante hadn't paid attention. That could have been it, as well, but he didn't think about it like that. Instead, he went looking for the phone book, to find food. That had to be the problem, really. He hadn't eaten in a few days, and his stomach was letting him know it, and it was fucking with his head.

_That was all_.

Which was bullshit, as, a few hours later, he found himself still internally fretting over the whole thing. The bottle was empty, which, if what he was thinking was true, in retrospect wasn't all that intelligent, but it ended up being just a little too late to worry about that kind of shit at that point. He just needed sleep. Or something. He did. It would fix it, and by morning, he probably wouldn't remember any of it at all.

And Vergil could just kiss his ass if he thought Dante was going to sleep on the couch. He could. Hauling himself up from the chair he'd been flopped in, he weaved his way over to the bed, stripping the whole while as he did so, before plopping right onto it and burrowing his way under the covers, until only the top of his messy hair could be seen. Fuck Vergil. He could sleep on the couch. Dante was tired, and sleepy, and worried, and drunk, and he didn't give a shit what the elder twin thought on the matter.

He must have seriously been exhausted without realizing it, because worry and all, it took no time at all to get to sleep. He hadn't even stirred when Vergil returned, and didn't even feel the half-hearted shove that was an attempt to pry him from the bed. Nor did he hear Vergil curse him bitterly under his breath until he, too, finally gave in and went to sleep.

In Dante's opinion, had he been awake, he'd have told the fucker he'd slept enough that day to begin with.

But once Vergil had settled down and gone to sleep himself, it was relatively peaceful. Well. At least for a time, it was. It was four that next morning, only a scant hour before Vergil himself would wake up on his own, when there was a loud knock at the door. He jerked awake, being the lighter sleeper of the pair, only to find Dante halfway sprawled across him, pinning him to the matress with his scrawny ass (he was serious...where Dante's hipbone dug into him was painful and the boy needed to eat more), and drooling on his shoulder where his shaggy, empty little head rested, and he was snoring. He had the audacity to speak of Vergil's own, but at least Vergil didn't drool.

It was with much disgust that Vergil squirmed his way out from underneath Dante who, while scrawny and appearing as though he'd snap in two in a strong wind, was much heavier than he looked when he was simply dead weight. Vergil, honestly, figured it was because the boy's skull was made of lead. He'd never seen anyone else take so much head trauma as Dante did, and still have any functionality whatsoever. Then again, it wasn't like he credited Dante with much to begin with.

Dante didn't even bat an eyelash the wrong way, as, when Vergil finally managed to pry himself from beneath the bony idiot, he immediately groped for, and found, Vergil's pillow, hugging it to his chest, the rhythm of his breathing (snoring) never once breaking. That was vaguely sad, really. Clingy, disgusting, shaggy little monkey. Vergil halfway expected him to start sucking his thumb, as well. Vergil snorted, before starting for the door, where it was being beaten upon once more. Whoever it was would soon be dead. Of that, Vergil was certain, as Yamato was scooped up and swung behind his back, before he even bothered approaching the door and swinging it open.

And there, lo and behold, stood a member of the hotel staff, looking as official as official could be, leaving Vergil...Vaguely unimpressed. He couldn't begin to fathom why in the hell they'd be bothering him at such an ungodly hour, oh, but they were going to suffer for it.

"What." There was no sense of congeniality there at all, the way Vergil said it. It was irritated, he sounded tired (he was), and he sounded like he'd rip the fucker's face off if he didn't get a good damn explanation for waking him up in the middle of the night (he would).

"Sir." He hated that shit, when it was so damn condescending. Didn't these fools realize he was better than them? "We've received complaints about..." He paused, peering at a folded scrap of paper. "Two white haired gentlemen? A woman earlier this evening complained one of them" -it was obvious what the idiot was implying- "assaulted her with a bag, and that she was minorly injured."

"And?" Really, what a waste of time. Was Vergil supposed to remember something like that? So very busy, he was, after all. What between Dante wibbling like a big fat baby, and going to collect his money and getting some far more valuable in return (with a growing body count, as well)...He was supposed to remember some whiny she-beast he supposedly assaulted. "Well, that's very special of you to wake me up to inform me of this, however I haven't been here at all, my twin has been sleeping, and I believe if it were truly that important you could have skittered your ass up here sooner. Now."

And with that, the door was shut. And locked. And chained. And it would have been warded, as well, were Vergil not so groggy. He ignored the 'Sir?' coming from the other side, as he made his way back to the bed and propped Yamato against the wall, before reaching across it to take his pillow from Dante. Little fucker had a death grip that needed to be seen to be believed, apparently. "_Dante_." There wasn't any response, of course, unless one counted the loud snort of a snore the younger twin gave, before trying to turn over the other way. "Dante. Quit being a retarded baby sheep and give me my goddamn pillow."

It was answered with an uncoordinated slap sent vaguely in Vergil's direction, before Dante rolled over completely onto his stomach, taking the pillow with him and keeping it pinned between his stupid scrawny body and the bed. But that was fine. Vergil was not above being a supreme dick about things, which was why he reached over and jerked the other one, under Dante's shaggy mess of a head, right out from under him and fluffing it out. Normally, that would have made him inwardly squirm, because germs and Dante were dirty. However, they were twins, and when worse came to worse, he wasn't above lowering his standards. Especially not when it came to maligning Dante in some fashion, because as the elder twin, he was allowed.

Only to be foiled, really, as Dante, still dead asleep, worked the pillow he'd clung to out from under him and used it to replace the one Vergil had stolen, all while Vergil watched, a bit dumbfounded. Vergil figured it had to be because Dante was an animal. Animals moved by instinct. And instinctively Dante was being a dick just to piss Vergil off. Of course he was, and that all made perfect sense. Dirty little bastard.

But it was all fine, because for the rest of the night, at least, there were no more incidents. Well. There was that one thing that had woken Vergil an hour later and gotten him completely up and moving, and wishing he'd warded the damn room, anyway, but that was something he was keeping to himself. In fact, it wasn't until he had to physically kick Dante from the bed to get him up and awake that the silence was even broken, with much 'fuck you's and 'goddamn motherfucker, let me sleep's from Dante's big fucking mouth. But even though he was loud and displeased and everything in between, it did get Dante in the shower, cursing Vergil bitterly the whole while.

After his shower, as he was getting ready to leave, Dante noticed a book next to the bag still on the counter of the kitchenette, and though he didn't touch it (he wanted to) he still inspected it thoroughly before glancing at Vergil over his shoulder. "Hey. Verg. Where the hell did this come from." Not what was it, because just from its tattered cover and apparent age, and the markings on the cover, as well as the Latin all over it, he could tell what it was. No, Dante was more interested in where it came from.

"I told you. I went to get my money." As though that were the most obvious thing in the world.

Dante rolled his eyes, where Vergil couldn't see, because God forbid he have to listen to him bitch. "Yeah, and? How much fucking money did you give them in the first place? Grimoires ain't cheap." Not at all. The underground occult black market made a killing on things like that. Dante, were it not for a lot of luck and being in the right place at the right time, would have never even dreamed of getting his hands on one, much less the small, but somewhat impressive, collection he'd managed to accumulate over the years.

"Well." That was a bad sign; the tone Vergil used. It meant someone probably died over that book. "I'm afraid they simply didn't have the amount I required on hand." Two people, probably, if Dante had judged it right. "So I took the next best thing." That book was probably worth more than Vergil would ever give anyone. "A mere trinket, really." Did Vergil smell like blood? Dante couldn't tell. The scent didn't fade for them as fast as one might think. "Paltry, actually, but I suppose adding it to what we've already collected can't be a bad idea." Dear Jesus, had he slaughtered the entire family?

"Uh...Huh." Dante wasn't going to question it further. He really wasn't. In fact, the only way he even let on he knew what had happened was his offhand comment of, "There better not be a goddamn body in my trunk. Where are my fucking keys." He was ready to get the fuck out of there. He really and truly was. Things from the night before still gnawed at him and made him worry and fret, and he figured driving in unfamiliar territory would help sort that right out of his thoughts.

Vergil waved an imperious hand at Dante toward the bag, ignoring him completely. "Get the bag and the book. We're leaving."

"Yeah, I gathered that, but _where are my goddamn keys, Vergil_." Vergil should have hoped and prayed he hadn't lost them. Truly. Or Dante was going to beat him until he couldn't walk. Because having to hotwire the fucking car would suck. And Vergil would be paying to get it repaired, and a new key set made.

"I have them, you wibbling little snot rag. Now come on." And he didn't wait for Dante to answer, as he swept up the room key and headed out of the door, leaving Dante no choice but to give a loud, irritated, 'Goddammit' behind him, as he gathered up both the bag and the book to trail behind.

* * *

**Author's Notes Round Two: **Keep an eye on that soccer mom. We're not done with her yet. Also, a note on the town: While no Montgomery, Dothan is a pretty decent-sized city in Alabama that I've been to on more than one occasion. No actual prominent families were harmed.

And if you freak out over Vergil being a psycho: Well, let's remember when he sliced that librarian into a few different pieces in the manga. What Vergil wants, Vergil gets.


	3. Halo Goddess Bone

Dante had been a little squirmy, true enough, when Vergil had left the interstate and taken to the backroads in the southern part of Georgia. It had put him in a place he had no idea how to get out of, and he was, to be frankly honest, worried Vergil didn't know where the fuck they were, either. It made him even more worried when, after one last stop at a twenty-four hour gas station, Vergil had left the main roads completely. They were headed to place where there were no lights, no people, no signs of civilization...Nothing. He wanted, really, to _ask_ what the fuck was going on, but...

Well.

He certainly didn't want to get accused of being a baby that was afraid of the dark. Because that wasn't it. He just didn't want Vergil to get them _lost_, and he really didn't see that as being whiny or a baby. He just doubted Vergil's navigational skills. He doubted them a lot. And who wouldn't? Vergil was fucking insane.

However, there he sat in the passenger seat, with a bottle of Mountain Dew (he was staying awake, dammit) and some gummy bears, peering out of the passenger window, trying to see where the fuck they were. Unfortunately, there was nothing but trees beyond, blotting out the sky except for a small sliver above them, and the night was starless and moonless, which made him even less comfortable. The headlights revealed nothing but endless dirt road, and for a moment, he opened his mouth to say something, but after a second thought better of it and closed his mouth again, resting his head against the window.

Which left Vergil to start conversation, the first in a few hours, and that was never a good thing. "Tell me, Dante." Dante leaned up a bit to cut him a look, one brow arching. He knew it was going to be bad. It always was, if Vergil had that snide tone. "Have you ever heard stories of cults in this area?" At Dante's incredulous snort, Vergil waved a hand, before returning it to the steering wheel, two o' clock and ten o' clock, which was why he sucked on a manual. He couldn't drive, at least not well, without both hands on the wheel. "Oh, denounce it all you want. Of course, there are no _true_ demon worshipping cults here now, but two hundred years ago, up until...Oh, one could wager it was the late thirties, they were incredibly active in this area."

"Uh huh." Dante sat up, running a hand through his hair. Fucking lunatic. "And I'm the fucking queen of Egypt."

"Then pleased to make your acquaintance, Hatshepsut." He smirked at the dark scowl Dante sent him, before continuing. Dante, while realizing it was rare that Vergil divulged information like that, couldn't help it. It meant something bad was going to happen, and that Dante was getting dragged into something he didn't want to be involved in. Oh, he knew his brother. He knew his brother too well. "Of course it seems a bit odd, to peg this place with such a history, but long ago, my shaggy sheepdog of a brother, this was a lawless and forbidding place-"

"You mean it's still not?" It was said on a laugh, as Dante rolled his eyes.

"Shut up and listen to your betters." Dante wasn't phased by the look he was given, and went to digging for a red gummy bear, snickering to himself.

"Dude, I was scared I was going to get assraped Deliverance-style in that gas station back there."

"Well, can't help you have a purdy mouth, boy." It was said with an affected drawl, which made Dante visibly shudder. Tormenting Dante over with, Vergil returned to his original point, reaching across the seat and clapping a hand to Dante's mouth when Dante opened his mouth to speak again. "It was a lawless and forbidding place, and man, as you and I very well know, are weak against that which they fear. We are less so, blessed purely by the genetics of our father to temper that which shakes the human soul, for we are far, far from human."

At that, Dante did give him a look, over where his hand was still clapped against his face. The last thing he wanted was a fucking lecture about how they were 'different' from humans; or, in actuality, because it came from Vergil, how they were better. He was very aware of how different they were; he'd dispute the better part. And in the end, it would end up a bloody mess, which was why he didn't try to say anything, letting Vergil ramble as he would.

"Man, of course, faced with the darkness, will naturally turn to it for comfort." Dante was tempted to ask what Vergil's excuse was, but bit his tongue. "And so, this area had a secret underground of cults, faced by small, local churches. Oh, there are those here now that play at worshipping the devil, but it's simply for shock value. Really, someone needs to come along and show them who the 'devil' really is."

Vergil's look was significant, which had Dante straightening in his seat and prying Vergil's hand from his mouth. "Ayeah, no, I'm not in on that shit. Drop me off back in town if that's what you're gonna do. Fuck that, Vergil. I got better shit to do with my time than scaring a bunch of pussy ass greasy goth teens."

"Oh, please, as if I would be that petty." He popped Dante in the forehead before replacing his hand once more on the steering wheel, taking a turn into an even more remote stretch of dirt road, this one far more narrow, and looking far less used. It was all made of that red Georgia clay, and Dante secretly thanked everything he held sacred that it wasn't raining, because he just knew with Vergil's driving they'd end up in a ditch, or something equally as stupid, because clay was slippery when it was wet. "No, brother, what you are about to see within the next small frame of time is simply one of the better kept secrets of the south."

"What, they really do rape pigs and shit? Hell, Vergil, I knew that." Vergil would be that fucking petty, and Dante wasn't sure he wanted to see what Vergil was there for. He truly wasn't. Because...True enough, Dante had no idea as to what Vergil did when he'd disappear for days or weeks on end, and he really didn't want to, because he positively _reeked_ of demons and magic when he returned. He probably thought Dante couldn't smell it, but then...Vergil was good about underestimating his little brother. It was him, after all, that actually did the demon hunting. Not Vergil, not often.

But this was seriously giving Dante the creeps. "Seriously. And just what is this amazing and wonderous sight you're showing me? What, some hillbilly altar to the devil? C'mon, Verg. If I wanted to see shit like that, I'd go to New Orleans." Not like he hadn't been there before and gotten neck deep in trouble with a local voodoo priestess once. As Vergil would have very well remembered, considering he was the one that bailed Dante out.

"Oh, I think you'll be surprised." It was there, in the middle of the road, that Vergil shifted into park, before glancing at Dante, eyes narrowed in sadistic mirth. And he honestly had no idea how much that creeped Dante out. "Make sure you're armed."

With that, he cut the lights and the engine, before shouldering the driver side door open and stepping out, giving a stretch with his hands braced at the small of his back. His voice was soft and quiet, as Dante exited the car himself, and on some instinct, Dante slipped the door closed instead of slamming it, not in the slightest surprised when Vergil did the same. "Take a moment, little brother, and use what you've been given and see what it is you see."

"Feels like a fucking bad horror movie, that's fucking what," Dante grumbled, adjusting his guns where he tucked them against his back, under his shirt. "Oh yeah, asshole, you tell me to come armed and you don't bring shit?"

Vergil gave him a slitted, heavy-lidded look. "Oh, but I'm _never_ unarmed, ickle Dante. Come along."

"You brought me out here to rape me." At that, Vergil gave Dante the clearest 'excuse me?' look that probably had ever been managed in the history of...Everything. "Look, babydoll, I know I'm sexy and all, but no. Bad touch."

"Stop being retarded." And as an afterthought, "And a flaming fag. You disease-ridden monkey." He started off of the road, hopping across the ditch that separated the flat of the road from the incline of a hill, before glancing back. "Stop dawdling. There are things I want done, and soon, and the longer you stand there playing with yourself, the longer I'll make you stay."

"Now see." It was said as Dante started to follow, scowling deeply at Vergil's back. "It's shit like that that makes me want to put a bullet in the back of your head. Keep it up, Sparky. You keep that shit up. You wish you were lucky enough to catch me playing pocket pool." He grumbled as his boot got caught in some undergrowth, yanking it free and picking up in a jog to catch up with Vergil. "I ain't even dressed for this shit."

"No, that's right. You're not. You're not flapping around like some giant, red, mechanical bat with the wings broken. Which is exactly why we're here _now_," Vergil snapped, as Dante took up pace next to him. "Yes, Dante, because obviously the thing you need to do while walking into a situation blind is to attract as much attention as possible. Bravo."

Dante huffed as Vergil increased his own pace, leaving Dante to follow a few steps behind. "Yeah? Fuck you, too. I know how to handle myself, asshole."

"Of course you do. Which was exactly why you called me naught two months ago from New Orleans, wibbling about a voodoo priestess." And there Dante had been hoping Vergil wouldn't say anything about that.

"Please, I don't feel shit out here." Which was true enough. The air felt _dead_, which was more disturbing than if there was some underlying demonic activity, just out of his line of vision. "Whatever was here, baby, it's long gone now."

"...Is that so." It was said distractedly, as they stepped out of the treeline into a narrow, overgrown patch of land with not a tree on it, and Vergil started to move a bit slower, keeping his eyes trained to the ground. "And that's your problem exactly, Dante. You're so simplistic. An absence of feeling should set you on alert just as much as if you could feel them breathing down your neck." He paused, stomping at the ground a moment. "Hn. It's farther in than I remember."

"So you're telling me you've _been_ here before?" Dante made a noise, folding his arms behind his head as he casually loped along behind Vergil, watching the idiot stare at the ground like some kind of retard. "Gee. Can't say that makes me feel a whole lot better about being stuck here with you, brother o' mine."

"Good. Familiarity breeds irrational comfort. Irrational comfort breeds weakness. And weakness offers only death." And despite that it was all that crazy talk Vergil did, he sounded distracted. They were moving deeper out into the open, completely exposed, but Vergil didn't seem to notice that at all. So much for all this talk about who was what about attracting attention. Dante wasn't the one stomping on the ground like a loony.

Silence fell between them for several long moments, before Vergil stepped over a patch of ground that, even to Dante, sounded distinctly hollow, and they both paused, before Vergil dropped to a crouch, clearing away the growth and dirt. "Or perhaps it was closer to the treeline than I was thinking." Soon enough, what had seemed like solid ground revealed a hidden trap door type deal, like Dante had seen in the midwest next to old houses.

"Hey, uh, did a house used to be here?" It seemed logical, at any rate.

"The foundation still is. But what _was_ here isn't important." The cover was lifted, and a dark splotch, indicating an opening, was revealed. "Now, we hope the stairs will support us."

"Huh? No." Dante shook his head emphathetically, backing away. "No fucking way, no fucking how. I'm not going down there."

"Fine." There was a bounce of humor in Vergil's voice, as he tested the first step, which held his weight fine. "Then I'll leave you here alone. You have heard tales of the nasty, oogie things that haunt countrysides at night, correct, bestest little brother in the world? Not to mention we're smack-dab in the middle of hillbilly country. I'd hate for my precious little brother to be spirited away while I'm occupied by a group of sweaty, inbred farmers, because he's 'pretty'." And yes. He did make the finger quotes.

Dante hated Vergil. Hated him with every fiber of his being and then some. There weren't enough words to describe how much he hated him. He hated him, because he was hitting all of his nerves with a fucking sledgehammer. "You fucking owe me. You fucking owe me _big time_. I better be getting, like...Real food or some shit out of this."

"Uh huh." Dante was tempted to kick him in the back of the head, as Vergil started down the stairs. He truly was. "Come along, Dante. It will be worth your sacrifice, I promise." When Dante started down the stairs behind him, gingerly, he added over his shoulder, "If you're a good boy, I might be generous and feed you. But only if you behave."

Fucker. He was just lucky Dante was willing to comply, if only because he didn't want to get assraped by either demon or inbred yokel. And that was it. "Yeah, this better be a-fucking-mazing, or I'm kicking your ass _and_ I'm taking your credit card." He would try, too. Of course, there weren't any guarantees he'd succeed, but he'd put up a _damn good fight_.

"Oh, stop whining." One of Vergil's hand trailed along the wall, as, with the deeper they descended, the harder it was for even the two of them to see, before his hand found what it was looking for. A switch was flipped, and lights, at sparse intervals, flared to life, leaving Dante blinking at its sudden appearance.

"What the fuck. How the fuck does this place have fucking power?"

"Not everything is run by mortals, Dante. For everything man has achieved that has been worth having, demons discovered it aeons before. And those that proved themselves loyal to demonkind received this knowledge as a gift." Dante didn't see it, but for a moment the hand that dropped from the switch rested fleetingly at the spot on his chest where his amulet lay under his shirt. He knew the secret about that, and it wasn't something Dante needed to know. A key to Hell. How fitting they both should wear them like crosses around their necks.

"Okay." Dante didn't give a shit. He truly didn't. He was weirded out, but as they passed deeper into the steeply sloped passage, he was becoming more curious by the second. The roughly hewn walls gave way to, at first, simplistic carvings in the stone underlying the clay and soil, and they grew more intricate, the deeper they descended. "Who the fuck built this?"

"People. Humans. Those who wished to gain the power that demons are innately born with. They revered creatures like you and I, thought it's doubtful any of them ever saw one with their own eyes. We, my brother, are a rare breed in this day and age." Vergil reached the last few steps, and ducked under a low, overhanging arc, out into whatever lay beyond it, until Dante emerged after him, going a bit wide-eyed.

It was a large cavern, arching above them, no doubt not all that far from the surface, though...By Dante's estimates they'd come a long way underground. It was...Cathedral-style, in its construction, but Dante was sure no cathedral looked that way on the inside. The supports of the high roof were studded with what looked like human skulls, and from the way those closest to the ground had deteriorated, he was pretty sure they were real. The orangish glow thrown from the light only added to the eeriness, as he stepped a little further into the room, looking up to the ceiling.

It was arched, with a slightly pointed dome, the internal battlements far, far above them. "This shit is fucking trippy as hell." A closer inspection of the wall revealed bodies -some mummfied, some nothing more than skeleton- lining them in what almost seemed a decorative pattern. Men and women both, from the clothing that still clung to most of them, though the colors had long since faded. "Is this some kinda...Tomb or some shit?"

"Yes." It was said as Vergil walked away, leaving Dante to gawk at the scenery, toward a small alter to the north, if Dante guessed correctly. "And no. The dead are here. They're watching...Every. Move. We make." It was said, stilted, as Vergil turned on his heel to face Dante once more. "However, we are what they worshipped. We're not in a bit of danger."

"No danger, huh?" Dante wandered away, to another side of the wide, open space, first inspecting one of the lights, then a skeleton, knocked jumbledy-peg against the wall, obviously having no place among the others hanging above it. "Well, well. Wonder what you did to not get to hang." He reached out and touched it, expecting it to crumble under his fingers, but was shocked to find it amazingly resiliant. Closer inspection led him to believe it was 'fresh', as there were still tendons holding the bone together.

"Hey, Verg. _Somebody_'s been down here. This one ain't been dead that long." He glanced back, and Vergil waved him off, picking up a book from the altar and flipping it open. "Tch. Fucking figures." It was said under his breath, before he turned back to the skeleton. "How the hell am I supposed to have any fun, huh? All he does is stick his fucking nose in a book. Fucking nerd."

He took the skeleton by the shoulders and lifted, a bit amused it still held together at the action, before snorting. "Yeah, I feel like dancing, too. Fuck Vergil. Let him jack off all _over_ that fucking book. You musta been a looker when you were alive, babe." Not that he knew, or cared, really. Humming to himself, he put one bony head on his shoulder, before supporting it with his other arm. Whoever she had been had been petite in life, as the feet dangled well above his boots. But that was fine. At least he wasn't dragging it.

"Now don't go losing parts. I can't stick 'em back on." With that, he hummed (surprisingly) a little waltz, pulling from his memory the times their mother had tried to teach them how to properly do so. It wasn't like he didn't have the coordination for it, especially then, with how he'd grown, and the skeleton, honestly, weighed nothing at all, so it was easy to take the big, sweeping steps, humming all the while to himself, right past where Vergil was scanning the pages of the book.

"Honestly, Dante, and you say I don't have respect for the dead." Not that he moved to stop Dante, in any size, shape, or form, and instead, turned another page. "Enjoying yourself?"

"You're just jealous you don't have such a hot date." He grinned as he spun, when he faced Vergil again. "Ask me real pretty, baby, and I might let you dance with me, too."

"Aheh." A finger was run down the page, before Vergil glanced up. "That's it exactly, Dante. It's rude, however, to not reserve a dance when a gentleman has requested. Remember that."

"I dunno. You didn't ask pretty." It was all said while Dante continued to dance around the open area with the skeleton. "What are you doing, anyway?" He craned his neck as he swung past again, trying to get a look at the pages. Pity for him he couldn't see it clearly.

"Refreshing my memory."

"Then why don't you just _take_ the fucking book?" Really, that made sense to Dante. Otherwise he wouldn't be there, dancing with a skeleton. But far be it for Vergil to do the logical thing, in any situation. It was one of those rhetorical questions, anyway, because Dante never expected the sane thing from Vergil. Ever.

"It's warded so I can't. I'm afraid, little brother, I tried to do that the last time I came here. Things...Well." He found the page he was looking for, and fell silent, reading, and Dante took to humming again, twirling with the clanking mess of bones. He was counting steps in his head, just like his mother had when he was small out loud, though she had always led then. Dante had never gotten very good at it, and before he had, their mother had...Well. He pushed those thoughts away. Then was not the time to dwell on things that couldn't be changed.

So into it, did he get, he didn't hear Vergil close the book and replace it, and hadn't been aware he'd even come closer, until he almost slammed into him.

"That's enough. Let's get going. We're still being watched."

"So soon?" With an overblown, tragic sigh, Dante took one last spin, before dipping the skeleton, grinning to himself. "I guess, if we gotta. Yeah, babe, I know." He grabbed the other hand and tossed it over his shoulder, in a mock embrace, using his own that had been holding it to tilt the jaw upward. "I know. But, I'm telling ya, babe, I'm not the settle-down kinda guy. It's better if we end this now before you get too attached. Parting is such sweet sorrow, and all that faggy shit, you know?"

He hadn't been aware, and neither had Vergil, when the bony claw of a hand slipped up to Dante's hair, before the tips of the fingers raked across his cheek in something that was most certainly not an accident, leaving behind long, angry, and deep scratches. For a moment, Dante stayed where he was, too stunned to speak, before a shrill, echoing voice most _certainly_ came from the skeleton, as the finger tips dug in deeper, the other hand clamping like a vice around his neck.

"Oh, but won't you stay, handsome?" It errupted in a mad, bubbling laugh, and Dante jerked backward, trying to get himself away, only lodging the bones deeper into his flesh.

"_Vergil_."

Vergil had been on his way out once more, on the other side of the low arch, when he heard both the eerie voice, and Dante's, full of panic. "Goddammit." And there he was, without Yamato. Well, he hadn't lied. He wasn't totally unarmed, in more ways than one, as he ducked back under, to find Dante struggling to pry the thing from him, where it laughed and laughed. "Goddamn possession. I _loathe_ body possessions, even if the body's dead."

"Just get this goddamn thing _offa_ me." There was no denying the panicked note in Dante's voice then. And who wouldn't be? The skeleton had latched on fiercely, and there Dante was, his hands around its wrists, struggling.

"Turn her this way. I have a parting gift." He didn't give Dante time to answer, as several pinpoints of cerulean light surrounded him, before shaping themselves into ghostly swords. "Just stay out of the damn way. I don't want to hear you whine." And with that, he let the first go, where it slammed into the ribs of the thing and shattered.

It let out a shriek of pain, as though it happened to be nothing but bones, the demon within was very real. And it most certainly felt that, because it dropped its hands from Dante to turn on its attacker, only to receive another phantom sword to the face. "Don't just stand there and sputter, Dante. _Shoot it_."

Another sword was released, taking out a knee. "And this is why we don't possess _skeletons_ for shock value, ladies and gentlemen." The thing gave a snarl, though it was teetering on its one usable leg, and for a moment looked as though it were going to pounce, before three shots rang out, reducing the skull to powder. And that was the only concession Vergil would give over Dante's guns: If nothing else, they _obliterated_ things.

The skeleton teetered there, short one leg and headless, and for a moment they both wondered if was going to just keep coming, before with a creak, and the snapping of bones, it collapsed into a useless pile. Dante stood there a moment, before slowly moving to tuck away his gun and reach up and wipe at his cheek.

"Well. That, uh, gives a new meaning to clingy bitch, huh?" It was shakey, the slight laugh he offered, before he shook his head and made his way over to Vergil on slightly wobbly knees. "You know." He draped an arm casually around Vergil's shoulders, fully expecting to be shrugged away, only hoping to steady himself for a moment. "I'll be honest. That scared the shit outta me."

"Uh huh." Vergil inwardly rolled his eyes, before bracing an arm around Dante's waist, tugging him toward the arch. "Let's get out of here before the rest of them decide they want us as houseguests." Once on the other side, he snorted loudly. "You know, brother, one would think a 'demon hunter' would be more on guard. Of course, given that it's you, I can't say I'm surprised ickle Dante panicked.."

"Smartass." God, Vergil was never going to let him live that down. And Dante didn't really feel up to the task of having a screaming match with him. "I played good. I want food."

"We'll see." And that was all Vergil was going to offer on the matter. Well, of course he was going to feed the shaggy mutt...As soon as he looked like he could hold it down. "First, we leave, and get back to where there are people. Though I'm afraid at this time of night, what you get will be rather slim choosings."

"Yeah, yeah." Awkward? Awkward. But that was okay. Dante reached up with his free hand once more to finger the scratches and gouges in his cheek, huffing to himself. "Stupid fucking...Thing. That shit hurts."

"Hm. No doubt there's some toxin in it." At Dante's wide-eyed look, he physically rolled his eyes. "Oh, like you won't reject it. Suck it up like a big boy, Dante. That's, no doubt, why you can't walk on your own without looking like the drunkard you are. And why we do not play with bottomfeeders."

"I didn't know!" Dante hadn't, and that was the point. "She looked dead to me." It was a shit excuse and Dante knew it. "Whatever, can we just _go_ now?" He didn't receive an answer, as they started up the stairs, and he was somewhat glad of that. The last thing he wanted was for Vergil to bitch away at him. He just honestly hoped nothing _else_ like that happened in the near future. Between demons attacking hotels, Vergil axing families for books of magic, and attacking skeletons, Dante figured by the end of it, he'd be as insane as Vergil, before the stupid fucking trip was over.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Poor Dante, the schmuck. He'll get his chance to play big brother's hero soon enough.


	4. The Coldest Sun

Florida was supposed to be sunny. However, when Dante and Vergil finally made it to Amelia Island, the sky was cloudy and grey, the sea itself rough and the color of dull steel. It was obvious they'd come during the stormy season, which did Dante no good at all. That meant no sun, which meant no babes on the beach in bikinis. Dante admitted he was slightly put off by that, because what good was going to the beach if there were no babes? Vergil had rolled his eyes at it, saying Dante was a simple fool without a braincell in his head, but truly. Dante did not give a shit what Vergil thought. Vergil was a supreme asshole to begin with. He hadn't even gotten Dante food, after that disasterous incident in the underground vault in Georgia.

That changed however, as Dante spotted a McDonald's, a few red lights head of where they were stopped, and pulled himself upright in the passenger seat, dropping his feet from the dash where he'd had them propped. "Verg." He didn't even look to see if Vergil had paid him a bit of attention, before he pointed at the building with its tell-tale yellow arched sign. "Food." At that point he didn't care what it was. McDonald's was perfect, if a little skeevy, because he just _knew_ how Vergil was about fast food.

There was a long pause, as Vergil squinted past the windshield to follow Dante's insistant finger, only to roll his eyes in exasperation when he realized what, exactly, it was the younger twin wanted. "Dante." There was patronization in his tone, which made Dante scowl at him from under his shaggy mop of white hair. "McDonald's?"

"Look, there's a Starbucks right across the street. C'mon. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon." It was almost like dealing with a little child, eager to get a happy meal, or some other such juvenile nonesense. Not only that, but he was using the most childish method in the book, thinking the fact that there was a _Starbucks_ across the street would sway the elder twin in any direction, other than 'no'. Regardless of the fact that, not only did he want a _shower_, as he felt absolutely disgusting, but coffee, honestly, didn't sound like that bad of an idea. "Please, Vergil? Please, please, please?"

"Dante." There was another long pause, as the light they were stopped at changed to green, and Vergil, honestly, for once in his life paid more attention to traffic than he did his brother, before the threw him an unamused glance. "If you're that goddamn hungry, we can do a damn sight better than _McDonald's_." Really, had Dante no taste?

Nope. "I don't _want_ anything else, I want to eat _now_." As if to punctuate, Dante's stomach growled, and growled loudly. It had been...Well, it had been a long time since they'd eaten, anyway, and while Vergil might have rolled like that, Dante did not. "I will _bite you_ if you don't stop. I swear to fucking God." And he meant it, too. He would lean right over and just chomp right down on any part of Vergil he happened to get his mouth around. He, honestly, wasn't all that particular, as long as it _hurt_.

"..._Fine_." It was grudgingly given, in a very snappish tone, just because he wanted Dante to _shut up_. He very well knew if he passed it by, Dante would whine, and he would complain, and he would make life a living Hell until he was given what he wanted. Vergil, honestly, wondered when Dante had gotten so damned spoiled, never coming to the conclusion it was _his own fault_ Dante was that way, with the way he coddled the younger twin. "However, if we do this, I don't want to hear another peep from you for the rest of the day."

"Yes, Daddy-dearest." It was said with an eyeroll, as Dante flopped back in his seat. Vergil was such a dick. But that was okay, because he was getting his McDonald's, which was far more important than Vergil's attitude.

"Don't go there, boopsie, you know it makes me hot." It was said flatly, because really now. Dante was such a big, fat baby. Wasn't Vergil being decent? He thought he was. He was taking his filthy, shaggy, gross little mutt of a twin to McDonald's wasn't he? Of course he was. That was _very_ decent of him, considering he _loathed_ fast food. Forget the fact that he planned on punting the little monkey out and going to Starbucks, he was still being a _good big brother_. Which was exactly what he told himself as he hit the brakes, pointing to Dante's door. "Get out."

See, and Vergil was an ass. That proved it. But that was fine, too, because Dante had that bitch's digits. He did. He put one hand on the door handle, before reaching over and gripping Vergil's chin in the other hand, tight, holding him in place as he leaned over and swiped his tongue in a long, slimy trail up the side of Vergil's face before pushing his door open and hopping out of the car before Vergil could grab him and ihurt/i him for that. He would pay for it later, he was sure, but the look of complete and utter shock on Vergil's face when Dante had pulled away had completely been worth it. "Bring me back something," was all he offered, as well, before slamming the door, right as Vergil had gone to crawl across the seat (amazingly keeping one foot on the brake), to grab Dante and beat him senseless.

And skittered as fast as he could inside, because he hoped and prayed Vergil wouldn't go after him, with him in such a public place. Not that that had ever stopped his big brother before, of course, but it didn't kill that tiny bit of hope he had that Vergil would just let it go, at least for that moment.

He was lucky, really. Because Vergil _didn't_ come after him, and Dante thanked everything he held sacred that overpriced coffee was obviously more important than Vergil having his face violated by his little brother's tongue. Either that, or Vergil was just secretly lusting after Dante, which Dante _would not_ put past him, either, with his getting Dante away from people all the time out in weird, off-the-beaten-path places. But that was okay, too. Vergil could be gross and dirty and incestuous and wrong all he wanted, as long as he kept his hands to himself. Dante would let him lust from afar, until the day he got with the touchy-grabby, and then they'd have a problem. And that was that.

And he was glad that Starbucks took forever, too, as he finally kicked back in a booth, squinting through the large windows to the green, white, and brown building across the street. It meant he had time to eat, at least, before Vergil came back and beat the ever-loving shit out of him until he couldn't walk. And if he was really lucky? Vergil would actually bring him coffee back, too, and all would be forgiven. It was wishful thinking, but Dante was a wishful kind of guy.

His bliss was ended shortly after that, however, as he felt the familiar tingle skitter across his skin, letting him know Vergil had once again entered the vicinity. And he looked pissed, too, as he picked his way over to where Dante was sitting, scowling at adults, walls, booths, children, and the floor alike, before he reached the younger twin and thrust a cup out to him, nearly sloshing the contents out through the little sissy sippy lids Starbucks put on their coffee, because some dumbass was too dumb to realize coffee was _hot_. "You? Are the foulest, most dispicable, filthy, shaggy little-"

"Adorable baby brother you'll ever have, yeah, yeah. Thanks." Dante had no problem cutting Vergil off and taking his coffee, before turning back to the elder twin, finding him digging around in his pockets. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Filthy." Vergil found what he was searching for, extracting a packet of, Dante shit himself not, sanitary wipes from his pocket, before opening it and anally extracting one. "Disgusting. It is _germ-infested_, and I refuse to sit here until it is _clean_." And Dante watched, with part embarrassment, part horror, as Vergil very well proceeded to disinfect his side of the booth.

"Dude." He watched Vergil go, barely restraining himself from slapping his forehead with a palm, instead busying himself with clearing away what was left of his breakfast and moving it to the side, and paying attention to his coffee. Maybe, he supposed, if he acted like he didn't know Vergil, no one would guess they were related, and that freak of a psycho wasn't his twin brother. Of course, that was because Dante was completely disregarding the fact that they were, in fact, identical twins. He pulled off the lid from his cup and set that aside as well, before glancing up once more, finding Vergil still doing his thing on the other side of the booth, and pointedly looked elsewhere out the window next to him, watching the traffic go by in the street beyond.

Finally, Vergil determined the booth was sanitary enough to sit down, and stuffed away the wipes once more, before sliding in and reaching across the table, snapping his fingers in Dante's face. "Earth to wibbler, please report why we're acting like a big fat baby, over."

"Do not make me slap you." Dante cut him a glare, before narrowing his eyes right over Vergil's shoulder. "Hey, Verg." His voice had dropped, miracle of miracles, to a pitch only Vergil, no doubt, would be able to hear, and nodded in that direction. "She look familiar to you?"

Vergil gave Dante an irritated look, before shifting in the booth and craning his neck to see behind him, coming face to face with a woman, possibly thirty-five years old, four children, and a nose brace taped to her face. For a moment, Vergil wondered why Dante would even care, as he couldn't place her for the life of him, until Dante said, "Ain't she the one that you smacked in the face with a bag back in that hotel in Alabama?"

Vergil squinted and stared, rather rudely, before turning back around with a shrug. "Yes, and?"

"I dunno, don't you think it's a little odd she's _here_?" It was said as Dante turned his coffee cup in his hands, trying to find the perfect place to drink from. As much as he bitched about Vergil's OCD, Dante himself had little rituals of the same type he'd never, ever admit to.

"No." And that was that. It didn't matter to Vergil whether it was, or wasn't, the same woman. "Drink your coffee and let's go. I want to get moving and find a room."

"Uh huh." Vergil was just lucky Dante was willing to comply with him on that one. He wanted a shower, too, to clean the blood that was still there, dried, on his face from where the skeleton demon thing had attacked him. And it didn't take him long at all, to drain the cup and place it with the rest of the remains of breakfast, before starting to scoot out of the booth. "Let's go."

And, of course, it wasn't like he bothered to clean up after himself, as he and Vergil left the mess on the table behind as they made their way back to the car. Dante was tempted to just go ahead and dig right through Vergil's pockets, for the car keys. However, he very well knew he'd pushed his luck as far as it was going to get, what with licking Vergil from before, so firmly kept his hands to himself, as he didn't want to lose one or the other, or both, knowing Vergil.

Once back in the car, while Vergil situated himself to drive (which always took forever), Dante took the liberty of turning the key in the ignition and fiddling with the radio, even though Vergil let out a huff. "Hey, shut it. My car, my radio, we listen to what I want to."

"I believe the rule was the driver picked the music." It was said as Vergil slapped Dante's hand and turned the radio off, before shifting into reverse and releasing the emergency brake. "Now sit back and shut up. We have to make a stop before finding a room."

Again: Vergil was lucky Dante was willing to comply, as he settled back into his seat and watched the world from being level with the doorframe at the window. Traffic was somewhat heavy, surprising with how stormy the sky looked, but there was no _real_ reason to complain about that, even when fat, heavy raindrops started splattering against the windshield, and Vergil fumbled around for the wipers. It figured his elder brother couldn't even do that right, really. The fucker was completely out of his element, trying to drive. It was almost funny, if Dante wasn't worried he'd cause them to wreck or something.

Most of the ride was spent in silence, while Vergil hunched over the steering wheel, even though the rain wasn't falling very hard at all. Dante didn't want to, heaven forbid, break his concentration or anything, because Vergil, honestly, looked like he was thinking way too hard about how to navigate through the light rain. It was sad that Vergil was the creature he was forced to call brother, being inept in nearly _everything_ normal he was forced to do. Driving was just one example. Dante could think of several more, and most had to deal with other people. That was the rub, though: Where Dante considered himself among 'people', Vergil did not. Of course, Vergil was crazy, and figured their status as nephilim gave them some other boost beyond the physical, and Dante just didn't see it that way. Oh, they picked up accents and languages faster than normal people, sometimes within days, and no doubt they'd both be tainted with a slight southern drawl when they finally left the south, and they read faster, and absorbed knowledge faster, and all that happy shit, but as far as Dante was concerned, they were a little different, not better.

He'd drifted off, however, surprised when he heard the engine cut off and glanced up, wondering how in hell they'd gotten to a spot at the boardwalk on a stretch of beach, spotting lines and lines of seagulls where they'd landed during the rain, along a row of covered picnic tables that were all deserted. In fact, as Dante looked around, there wasn't another soul there, or another car, or anything. "Verg?" It came out rather fuzzy, as though he'd been asleep, and he really wasn't surprised when Vergil didn't answer, and instead shouldered his door open and climbed out of the car.

Dante sat there a minute, watching Vergil tug the collar of his jacket up as he walked away, before opening his own door and shuffled out, taking a moment to stand there, the wind forcing his already shaggy hair into his eyes, before pulling his own jacket a little tighter around himself. He was surprised how chilly it had gotten, figuring Florida wouldn't know chilly if it bit them in the ass, and the rain, too, wasn't the slightest bit warm where it pelted him lightly. But after a moment, he started after Vergil onto the beach, picking his way over the damp sand carefully, feeling it shift and clump under his feet.

He had no idea why Vergil was there, and he didn't bother to ask, as he stayed a good distance behind, focusing instead on looking up and down the beach, realizing how _lonely_ it was, with no one there. Vergil passed through his field of vision, but he didn't focus on him, really, as more than a splash of blue and white against the grey, before finding a spot with a few large rocks and sitting upon one, drawing his knees to his chest. Outside of the seagulls and ocean, it was far too quiet for his tastes. And it was an odd place to be, while it was raining, and so chilly, and with Vergil...

He shook his head, sitting up and dropping his legs to look for Vergil, surprised to find two more people on the beach, headed his way. For him, the most noticeable thing was the fact that one was a splot of red against the greyed-out sand, the other a splotch of blue, both the same height with white hair, which was a rarity, on people who were of the decidedly younger variety. Not that he could tell, at that distance, how old they were, but their posture said they weren't in the final years of life. He stayed where he was, watching them draw closer, feeling a prickle along his spine, as their features started to become clearer, as well as the details of their clothing.

The one in red wore his hair longer, at least...Longer than Dante kept his, his jacket with the high, black leather collar fastened tight except for the tails, which flapped slightly in the wind behind him. Dante couldn't say with certainty _why_ it skeeved him out, at least not at that moment, but there was something oddly familiar in his mannerisms as his moved, something about the lazy and confident gait he moved over the sand with, that struck a chord with him.

The one in blue was the same way, though his hair was, as far as Dante could tell, shorter, and probably neater kept, though it was being blown about carelessly by the wind. He watched them closely, leaning forward on the rock for a better view, as they came ever closer, not even hearing Vergil step up behind him. "What are you doing?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin, and he clung to the rock, where he almost tumbled right off, facefirst into the sand, before answering. "Hey. You see them?" He nodded toward the two that were starting past them, a ways down the beach, closer to where the water hit the sand.

"Yes, so?" Dante ignored him, narrowing his eyes closely at them, and catching faint bits of their conversation.

"Would you just shut up, already? Fucking loony." The one in red, obviously, had a mouth on him.

"And this is precisely why I take you nowhere, and we can't have nice things. Because you are both retarded and childish." For some reason, that was oddly familiar, coming from a figure in blue. It made Dante smirk a bit, as he glanced behind himself slightly at Vergil.

"I'll fucking show you retarded. Keep it up, and I'm pitching your ass in the water."

"Of course you are, boopsie."

They moved along, out of earshot, before Dante shook himself from his trance, and moved to stand once more, finding Vergil glaring at him. "What?"

"Way to waste some time, genius. Come along." Vergil took his arm, none too gently, and gave him a tug back toward the car. Dante glanced back, one last time, surprised to find the two that had been walking the beach had vanished, which was odd. The beach was a long, straight stretch, and logically that couldn't have happened.

"H...Hey. Dude. They're gone." He tugged against Vergil and drew to a stop, glancing up and down the beach once more. "What the fuck."

"Oh, like it matters. Get in the car." It was with a harder tug, more like a jerk, that Vergil began dragging him forward once more, until Dante gave in and trailed along a step behind, allowing Vergil to lead him to the car.

"But...Were they ghosts?" It was an honest question, as Vergil dropped him off at the passenger door, and he began climbing in, peering out toward the water through the windshield as he did so.

"And I know?" Vergil climbed in as well, slamming his door shut. "Proof, little brother, that you are insanely slow on the uptake."

"How the hell do you figure?" Dante scowled at him, reaching up to push the wet hair from his face before he paused, feeling as though he'd been hit with something over the head. "Dude." He fumbled a moment, before getting his door open once more and jumped out, already jogging back to the beach before Vergil could say a word. Which, of course, left Vergil bitching under his breath as he moved to follow, to see what, exactly, had pulled on Dante's cock in such an asinine way, the retarded baby sheep.

Dante made his way down the beach, to put himself in line with where the two had been walking, not at all shocked to find no footprints there. Still. He thought he had it figured out, and when he heard Vergil come from behind, he didn't bother turning around, instead looking to the point he figured they'd vanished. "Vergil."

"_What_, you moron." Oh, he knew Vergil was pissed at him for running off, but he'd had to see for himself. Could he really be blamed for that? Dante didn't think so.

"I think I get it." It was like a light bulb had physically gone on over Dante's head.

"Uh huh."

"No, really." Only then did he bother turning around, satisfied they were truly gone. "You know what a doppleganger is, right?"

"No, Dante." Vergil said it with a roll of the eyes, dramatically waving a hand. "_Yes_, Dante, I am well aware of what a doppleganger is. Get to the point, as it is _freezing_ out here." They didn't acclimate to cold weather very well, given their demonic heritage.

"Dude, they were us." Dante was absolutely sure of that fact, after thinking about it for a moment. "I think they were older, but they were _us_."

Vergil squinted at Dante a long moment through his hair, whatever he used in his hair to give him the porcupine do having long since given up the battle against the wind and rain. He was, as of that moment, convinced Dante was completely off of his rocker entirely, which said something, given it was Vergil. "Of course they were. Time paradox!" He waggled the fingers of both hands, in a sarcastic gesture, before grabbing Dante by the jacket collar and tugging him once more to the car.

Dante gave up with a sigh, stumbling to catch up and walk back on his own, pulling himself free. "Ass." It was true. Vergil could be a fucking douche if he wanted to, Dante had _seen_ them. It just hadn't connected until they were in the car. But that was okay. Vergil could be a smartass and throw around the 4chan lingo all he wanted (and here Vergil had claimed he never visited that 'bleeding sore on the ass of the internet' ever), because Dante was right for once. It couldn't be helped Vergil was too stupid to put it together, the crazy fucker.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Okay, so maybe it isn't a TRUE occurrance of a doppleganger. Cut me some slack. :P This brings us up to four chapters. Only eleven more to go before I need to get my ass writing on this again. (I, uh, should probably do that anyway, huh?)

Also, just wanted to take a moment to stop and thank everyone for the kind reviews. I may not respond to each individually, but I'm grateful for them, and I'm glad you're enjoying the boys and their wacky misadventures! Especially since writing this particular fic spawned a whole AU universe of its own, so you'll see plenty of them from the future and past. :D


	5. Bullet

**Author's Notes: **Figured I'd do these now, considering the nature of this chapter. :x Firstly, you may have noticed the story's rating has gone up. Ayuh, you can thank amnesia!Vergil for that. Secondly, this chapter contains a slight (_slight,_ as in...One not!kiss and a lick) non-con, which would be pretty standard fare with how Dante likes to torment Vergil, but I'm warning for it, anyway. Better safe than sorry.

Sorry it's been so long, guys. Real life kicked me in the ass.

* * *

It had happened so fast, Dante had only had time to react and fire, and, admittedly, his aim had been a bit off. But he'd taken the fucking ghoul out, by God, and but good. True enough, he wouldn't have, had it not gotten the jump on Vergil and taken him down, and as he stood there, barrel still smoking, arm trembling a bit, that should have been his first priority, instead of standing there, gaping at the spot in the air where it had stood. Vergil was down, and out for the count, it seemed, but in the end, he could only blame himself, when he came to. It had been his idea to search underneath the city of St. Augustine, and Dante had been more than reluctant, still shaken from what had happened back in Georgia. But then, a good little brother didn't let his big brother go alone, so he'd traipsed along after, and that was what it got them.

Dante picked his way over the bones littering the ground, making his way to where Vergil was slumped against the sewer wall, the streak of blood that had been left behind after Vergil had hit it and slid down not comforting him in the slightest. But he was breathing, his chest rising and falling with a regular, if slow, rhythm, Dante noticed, as he reached him, putting the fingertips of one hand against his neck to feel his pulse as he used the other arm to lift him away from the wall.

His back was a mass of deep, angry, and bloody clawmarks, where he'd gotten hit before being tossed, and Dante visibly winced, glad Vergil wasn't conscious to see it. For all that he bitched, that was his brother that was hurt, and it pissed him off that he didn't know how to resurrect the fucker to kill it again, because it had made Vergil bleed. Dante was the only one allowed to do that. But it was going to be fine; Vergil was insanely tough, and Dante knew that, and he'd heal (in fact, at the ends of each mark, it already looked as though his flesh was stitching itself back together at preternatural speed), and he'd be pissed as hell that he'd had a jacket and shirt ruined. Vergil was weird like that. Half the time Dante wondered if it was some kind of cover up for looking weak, but he never pondered on that for too long.

"Dammit, Vergil, now I gotta haul your fat ass out of here." But it was said without venom as he dropped his hand from Vergil's throat, shifting around to get a good grip on him and get Vergil's limp form over a shoulder in a fireman's carry, before straightening to his feet. "I'm putting your fat ass on a diet." It was said with a huff, because really, Vergil wasn't all that light, and as dead weight he was insanely heavy, and insanely cumbersome. Dante supposed it had a lot to do with them being the same height, or some other such nonesense. He didn't much care. As far as he was concerned, getting Vergil back to their room and seeing what he could do for the marks on his back was first priority. Everything else, including his own bitching, could wait.

It didn't mean he didn't bitch in his head, as he slogged through the sewers, back to the point they'd entered at. It was outside of town, on an abandoned stretch of lonely road facing the ocean, and not much else, and unearthly quiet when Dante finally reached the outside again, into the sunlight. That was surprising, because it had been so dark, underground, and Vergil being hurt like he was made it seem all the gloomier; walking out into the light just felt odd, after all of that. It blinded him a moment, and he stumbled, tightening his grip on Vergil's limp form, because if he dropped him, and Vergil found out, Dante knew he'd never hear the end of it. He supposed for things like that, Vergil bitched just to hear himself bitch, because the bastard was in love with the sound of his own voice. Oh, it didn't matter that, as far as tonal quality went, he and Dante just weren't distinguishable from one another. No. It was because, as Vergil would say, the elder twin had _class_, and a way with words.

Except not, as far as Dante was concerned. He just sounded like a pretentious ass half the time. Okay, more like all of the time, but that wasn't the time to debate Vergil's use of his giant, nerdy-ass vocabulary.

It was when Dante was moving to prop Vergil up in the passenger seat that he noticed the red staining the back of Vergil's hair, as well. And, to be honest, with hair like theirs, as white as could be, he failed to understand how he'd missed it from the get go, but he supposed the mess that was Vergil's back had been distracting. Vergil was going to have one hell of a headache when he came to, which meant he would be in a ifine/i mood. Really, Dante couldn't be more thrilled about that, at all.

Once Vergil was secure, Dante shut the passenger door and walked around to the front of the car, wiping the blood from his hands on his jeans. It was going to be a pain in the ass, getting Vergil back to their room without anyone seeing him, and seeing the mess he was in, and they were a long way away from the hotel, too. Dante hoped and prayed he remembered the way, because with everything, the last thing Dante needed to do was stop for directions.

He slid into the driver's seat, and glanced over at Vergil, slumped as he was, head leaned against the seat at a sickening angle, with him being completely slack, before flattening his mouth into a straight line and turned the key in the ignition, keeping silent. It wasn't like he had anyone to talk to, after all, with Vergil out like he was, and he didn't really feel like talking, anyway. That gnawing worry about why they were really on the roadtrip that had caused this whole mess was back, chewing at his spine with a vengance, and really, he didn't have time to give in to it then. Vergil's state of being was far more important, as weird as if felt, being the one to completely take charge. Usually it was the other way around, so handed that responsibility, Dante found himself a little unsure on his feet. If he did something wrong, he'd never hear the end of it. If he did everything right, Vergil would seethe and stew over it for all eternity, having to let his little brother assist him, even though there was no possible way Vergil could have walked out of that to begin with.

It was just weird, however, that everywhere they went, something like that happened. Neither one came away completely unscathed, and places where Dante figured it would be the last place on earth he'd have a run in with the paranormal always ended up throwing him some curve ball or another. It was Vergil's fault, of course, but at the moment, he didn't even have the heart to bitch at his brother's unconscious form, even if he'd never know it. Vergil would, by some intuition, know Dante was displeased, anyway, even if he wouldn't know the specifics, and that would give him more fuel to call him a big, fat, wibbling baby, which wasn't true. A wibbling baby wouldn't have been as steady as Dante was, or as calm and collected. So Vergil could blow him.

The drive back to the hotel seemed to take forever, in Dante's opinion, without Vergil's bitching to fill the silence over the engine. Proof, really, that even if Vergil pissed him off to no end, he did serve some purpose in Dante's life, even if it was just to distract him from worry and road hypnosis. But that was okay, because Vergil would be fine. He always was, and he always bitched at Dante after the fact, telling him he was nothing but a distraction in situations like the one back in the sewer. That was okay, though, too, because that bitching meant Vergil was at a hundred percent, which was all that mattered, in the long run.

At least that time they had a room on the bottom floor. That was something Dante was grateful for, when he finally found the hotel and stopped the car and climbed out, already getting the key card to their room out and ready before retrieving Vergil from the car. He was still heavy. Not like Dante had expected him to magically become as light as a feather or anything, but it didn't change the fact that the fat ass needed to go on a diet. He did. He could deny it all he wanted, but Dante would swear up and down his fucker of a brother had love handles.

And no one was around, either, to see him carry his bloody brother across the parking lot, to the door that would take them down a hallway to their room. Another small blessing. It was hard, manuvering enough to get Vergil through the door without banging him around in the frame, but Dante managed it somehow, though he himself took a couple of slams. That was fine, he was a big boy, and he could take the ache that started in his free shoulder after the fact. He wasn't the one with his back ripped open, after all.

He wasn't even aware of the blood dripping from Vergil's limp and dangling hands, as he made his way down the hall, to their room. A few seconds later, and he'd keyed inside, once again doing a little dance to get Vergil through the door no more scathed than he already was, before moving to drop him (in reality being very careful not to jar him further, but it soothed Dante's ego to think he just dropped him) on the bed, after kicking the door shut behind him. It was a fucking mess, no two ways around it.

However, once he'd done so, and dropped the key card on the bedside table, he went to work prying Vergil out of his jacket, and then his shirt, wrinkling his nose at just how heavy both were from blood, the edges of the rips in the backs of both growing stiff with the drying blood. A look at Vergil's back, however, confirmed it was healing, just as normal, as did a check of the back of his head. His skull felt a bit...Pliant, but it would seal itself back together in no time, as Dante would very well know, being the recipient of several head wounds just like it, and he would be as good as new in no time. Satisfied, Dante left him there on the bed to sleep it off, before picking his way to the couch, to catch a nap. It wasn't like either one had been getting much sleep, since leaving home, after all.

However, the illusions that all would be well was shattered when Dante flailed awake from a nightmare, almost knocking himself right off of the couch in the first place, before hearing a groan from the direction of the bed. He'd known Vergil would wake up with one bitch of a headache, hadn't he? It almost made him snicker, because it iserved the fucker right/i, it did, for making Dante worry, and then take care of his ass (as minimally as that had been, because with them, there wasn't a whole lot that could be done for wounds except to just let them heal).

He pulled himself upright, before starting for the bed, finding Vergil slumped against the headboard, a hand over his eyes. "Yo, Verg, you alright?"

"Fucking...What the fuck." The first clue that all was not well, though Dante, honestly, wasn't surprised at such language coming from Vergil after waking up from what had happened. It probably felt like an elephant had stamped all over his head in stiletto heels or something. The second clue came when the hand was dropped, and Vergil blinked around a moment, looking wide-eyed and baffled. Well, of course he was. He'd gotten knocked out in a sewer and woken up in their hotel room. Had it been Dante, he'd have been confused, too.

"The hell am I?" A moment was taken, as his eyes cleared and zeroed in on Dante, who'd stopped at the foot of the bed, waiting on him to start snapping at him. "...Who are you?"

"Uh huh, very funny, Vergil." It was rare, for Dante to use Vergil's full name, which should have told the elder twin Dante didn't find it very funny at all. That wasn't the route Dante had expected Vergil to pull. "I know your head hurts, but you keep that shit up, and I'll add to it by knocking your fucking teeth down your goddamn throat."

"I...What?" Vergil, honestly, was a damn good actor, because he seemed genuinely confused, until his brows drew downward into a frown. "Look, fucker, I dunno who the fuck you are, but if you want to start shit, we'll start shit, comprede, babydoll?" It was said as Vergil scooted to the edge of the bed and rose from it clunkily, making more noise than Dante supposed Vergil ever had. "Scrawny stick bitch like you can't be that much damn trouble."

"Fucking _excuse me_?" Just what the hell did Vergil think he was doing? "Okay, who the fuck are you and what did you do with my brother, 'cause I ain't laughing, Sparky." Really, a joke was a joke, but Vergil was taking shit too far. Instead of Vergil being Vergil, he was stealing Dante's shit? Oh, no, no, no. That wasn't going to fly with Dante at all. "I'm serious. Cut that shit out. You had your fun."

"...Brother?" It wasn't just the tone, or the words, that was off completely, Dante began to realize. It was the body language, as well. Vergil never stood less than ramrod straight, like he had a pole up his ass, but as Dante watched, a hand went to Vergil's head, his weight shifting one side as he slouched a bit. "The fuck do you mean, brother?" He glanced up again, catching his reflection in a mirror behind Dante, before plodding over toward it, still holding a hand to his head. His steps were clunky, completely out of character for the elder twin, and Dante just watched, a bit weirded out, as Vergil paused before the mirror and gave himself a once over, before turning back to Dante.

"Dude. You look like me!" Like it was some new and amazing discovery. However, it was the use of the word 'dude' that threw Dante off completely, and he approached slowly, waiting for Vergil to suddenly drop the act and punch Dante in the face or something.

"Uh...Yeah, Vergil. That tends to happen with identical twins? That whole...You know, coming from the same egg thing and sharing a womb for nine months together? You know, twins?" Make that very weirded out, as Vergil squinted slightly and leaned forward a bit, listening intently to everything Dante said.

"Twins, huh? ...What's my name, again? Uh. What the fuck's yours?"

"Vergil." It was beginning to dawn on Dante, what could have _possibly_ happened, though he was more inclined to believe Vergil was just fucking around and jerking his chain. "I know you didn't forget your own goddamn name. You're too fucking in love with yourself to." It was answered with a blank stare, before Vergil reached up and ruffled his own hair, in exactly the manner Dante would have, and that was creepy. "Vergil. It's me, Dante. Just nod."

"Dante. Dante and Vergil? What, like the two fucking poet dudes?" Vergil made a noise of disdain, waving a hand at Dante, as though dismissing it as stupid. "Yeah, okay, that's pretty fucking queer. Anyway, so we're twins? That's pretty fucking awesome. I always wanted a twin. Who's older?"

"Uh...You are. By all of fifteen minutes, jackass. I mean it, stop fucking around." Dante, admittedly, hoped and prayed what he was thinking wasn't true. It was too much. Vergil was _stealing his shit_, and while he'd always wished they didn't snipe at each other as much as they did, that was just too weird, seeing Vergil act like...Dante himself. And that was what it was boiling down to. "You're weirding me out, dude, c'mon."

"Why? I mean, if we're brothers, what's to be weirded out for, huh? Especially twins, right? Don't tell me that whole thing about a psychic connection's all bullshit. That'll totally take the piss out of it." Vergil clopped a bit closer, as though looking for the differences between them, like he'd never seen them before. Which was funny, because Vergil never failed to point them out (and how Dante was inferior) at every given opportunity, and having him so close, when Dante could feel nothing malevolent or even just bitchy coming from him was creepy as hell. "We're not too shabby, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Oh, how Dante wished Vergil would drop the fucking act at that point. It wasn't funny; most of all, it wasn't funny because Vergil was nailing Dante so perfectly, right down to his own annoying mannerisms that he did just to piss Vergil off, like blow at the hair hanging in his face, or getting far too close for comfort because he knew it made Vergil's skin crawl, and his OCD to kick into overdrive because Dante was 'filthy'. "Dude, back up, seriously. Way too close for comfort."

Vergil let out a snort, folding his arms, but not moving back an inch. "Some twin you fucking are." He wasn't even pushing at his hair, Dante noticed, when he very well knew Vergil couldn't stand his hair hanging in his eyes. Which had always raised the question as to why Vergil didn't cut it shorter, but Vergil had always told Dante to mind his own business, the creepy fucking stalker. But that wasn't the point; Vergil's creepy ass behavior was. "So. What are we doing here?" Vergil paused, looking around the hotel room, frowning thoughtfully. "We on some kinda trip, or what."

"Uh, yeah, genius, it was your idea." What the fuck. No, seriously, what the fuck. "Remember? Leaving the shop? The shitty hotel in Mississippi? The skeleton in Georgia? Dopplegangers on the beach a little further up the coast?" Dante took the initiative and took a step back, only to be followed, and have the distance between them closed even more by Vergil. Way to get into someone else's personal bubble, seriously.

"Shop? Skeleton? What the fuck are you talking about?" Vergil leaned forward a bit, until the were almost touching, before backing off completely, clunking heavily to the mirror once more. "We're not on the lam or something are we? 'Cause that shit would not be kosher."

"Not unless you failed to tell me something before we left." Well, at least Dante had gotten out there, that he thought Vergil was up to something, even if Vergil didn't respond. It had made Dante's skin ripple, really, when Vergil had leaned close, and he rubbed at his own arms, concealing the fact that he was, in fact, hugging himself. "The skeleton, Vergil. The possessed one that _attacked_ me, remember? And you did the whooshy ghost sword thingy that you won't show me how to do and shit? Yeah? Ringing a bell there, partner?"

It was met with a blank stare in the mirror, before Vergil broke out in a true, honest to God toothy grin. "Man, quit fucking with me. Be serious. Really, why the fuck are we here, then?"

That sealed it. All was not right. "Vergil. Brother. Please. I'm begging you here. Drop the fucking act and talk to me. I admit, okay? You got me freaked out. Happy? C'mon, you know you want to take a potshot at this. C'mon. _Please_." Vergil gave him a look in the mirror eerily like any of Dante's own unamused ones, before turning to face Dante once more. "Vergil. C'mon. Tell me how you'll be better than me, 'cause I'm too fucking human. Please?" It was almost hopeful, really, the way Dante said it, taking a somewhat cautious step forward. "C'mon. I'm wibbling over here. Tell me how I'm the worst excuse for a nephilim you've ever seen."

"You some kinda masochist or some shit, dude?" Vergil leaned his weight, first to one hip, and then the other, folding his arms across his chest once more. "The fuck is a nephilim. I have no fucking idea what you're talking about, Dent. I'm calling you Dent. You call me Verg, it's fair game."

Dante glanced up at the ceiling, asking for guidance, before returning his gaze to Vergil, still not wanting to believe it was serious, and just some act Vergil was pulling. "Only the thing you take the most pride in, you twat. You know, half-demons? Hello? I'm serious. Stop."

"Dude." Vergil went wide-eyed, before leaning close once more. "No shit? Half demons? For real?" He looked thoughtful for a moment, before unfolding his arms and reaching out, gripping Dante by the shoulders so he couldn't pull away. And, just from that, it was obvious he didn't know his own strength, because that shit hurt. "Wow. That's fucking awesome, but listen. I dunno what it is that has you so damn antsy, 'cause you're acting like I'm about to rip out your liver and wear it as a hat or some shit, but chill. We're not in any trouble, right?"

"Not unless you didn't tell me." Dante tried to extract himself from Vergil's grip, but the fact was, without Vergil paying attention, he didn't have a chance in hell of doing so.

"Good! 'Cause, uh, I don't remember. But as long as I don't think we are, and _you_ don't think we are, I say we break out the booze and call it a day. 'Cause, dude." Vergil nodded toward the bed, where the covers were stained with his blood. "Something tells me we don't need to call room service for that, anyway. So let's just...Relax. Or something. Have a little fun."

To be honest, Dante wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that. "Vergil. You don't drink." Unfortunately, that was the only thing he could think to say, and it was somewhat faint, at that, as he leaned back as far as he could in Vergil's grip.

"Says who. What kind of pussy don't drink?" Vergil let Dante go, and clopped back a few steps noisily, before looking down at his own feet, scowling at the boots there. "What kinda pansy-ass motherfucker wears shoes like these? Look at these fucking sissy ass pants. What the fuck. Who the fuck _buys_ these things? Our mom or some shit?"

Dante paused there, rubbing at his shoulder where Vergil's fingers had dug in hard enough to leave bruises without him even realizing it. "Vergil. Our mother's dead. _You_ buy your own clothes. _You're_ the pansy here."

"Uh...Huh." It was obvious he didn't know what to say to the first part. And, like Dante would have, he completely ignored it, instead. "Yeah, well, not anymore. These things are fucking stupid looking." He stopped for a minute, eyeing Dante. "Gimmie something of yours."

"Huh." At that point, Dante had to admit maybe Vergil wasn't faking. Because Vergil wouldn't have said that, even for the sake of a joke. "You're fucking kidding. You gotta be."

"Uh, no?" He reached out, making grabby hands in the air. "Clothes. Now, please. So I don't like some stupid yuppie motherfucker or something. Help your big brother out like a good boy, huh?"

Dante, quite honestly, had no idea what to say. "Vergil, I dunno even know if they'd fit you, dude. I'm a lot skinnier than you." But he nodded to his bag anyway, taking another step backward as he did so. "Just...In there."

"See, and that's what a good brother does. Helps his poor, retardedly dressed twin out. You're totally a life saver, you know that?" It was said as Vergil toed off his own boots and dug around in Dante's bag at the same time, before letting out a whistle. "Now, see, this is what I'm talking about. Catch, little bro." He tossed the bottle of Jack Dante had hidden away in there, for emergency purposes, over his shoulder, and Dante scurried to catch it, because if there ever was an emergency situation that required alcohol, that would be it. "Now. We have booze, I have clothes, everything's good. We should, like, order pizza. Or, like, are we flat broke or what?"

It was at that point that Vergil started shimmying out of his pants, and Dante, trying to look as casual as possible, turned on his heel, making like he was working on the bottle to get it open. In truth, he was, but he certainly didn't want to see Vergil _naked_, either. "Nah, you're the one with the cash. Hence you and them sissy-ass clothes." He was trying, really hard, to stay calm, because he didn't believe Vergil was faking anymore. He truly didn't, not when he glanced over his shoulder to find Vergil fastening _his_ worn pair of jeans before tugging on one of Dante's simple black tshirts. It was so...Weird, like truly looking in a mirror, because he and Vergil had taken great strides to make sure they looked anything but identical.

And yet there Vergil was; his hair down, in the same messy way as Dante's, wearing Dante's clothes (Dante was surprised they fit), looking for all the world like a Dante _clone_. It might have seemed silly, for an identical twin to be shocked at just how much alike he and his brother were, all things considered, but the fact was, Dante had never seen him as such, not even when they were children. Even then, their parents had instilled the concept of separate identities in them, even if they still worked as a unit, as twins were wont to do.

"Huh. Well, then! That totally works for me. Besides." It was said as he came out of nowhere behind Dante, plucking the bottle right out of his hands and making off with it as he clunked around to the couch. "Big brothers should totally take care of the little ones. C'mere." Vergil flopped down on one side of the couch and patted the other, leaving a still gawking Dante standing there a moment, before he shook his head and approached slowly and cautiously, like one would a wild animal. He was afraid Vergil would snap to at any minute, and, God forbid, accuse Dante of doing something dirty and wrong and that only Vergil would do. Like getting him drunk for incestuous reasons or something, which, as far as Dante was concerned, was a no-fly zone.

"Uh, Verg, I'm gonna be a downer and say this _really_ ain't the best of ideas." But once he was close enough, he found himself in Vergil's grip (it really sucked when the idiot had no idea how strong he was), and Vergil tugged him onto the couch next to him, damn near ripping his arm off, to hear Dante tell it. He flailed and set himself to rights, scooting to the far end of the couch away from Vergil, because really: He did not want to be there when Vergil straightened out of it, because oh, he would, of that Dante had no doubts, because that was just the way his luck ran, and he knew Vergil would be pissed as hell when he did so, and blame Dante for everything.

That was _always_ the way it went.

"Y'know what? You're damn uptight. Here." The bottle was thrust into Dante's hands, with a nod. "You need to loosen up, man, stop acting like I'm gonna eat your face off or some shit, alright? Seriously." And Dante, honestly, could do nothing but take it, considering that was his emergency bottle and he didn't want to see it go to waste or anything. But of _course_ he was acting like Vergil was going to eat his face off, because _he would when he regained his goddamn senses_. And, oh, Dante was going to hurt for it, he just knew it.

"Dude. In the bubble again." Sad, really, that that was all Dante had to say on any of it, though. Because, really, Vergil was entirely too close for comfort. And short of kicking him away, that was the nicest way Dante had to get him to back the fuck off. "Seriously, personal space. You're totally trashing that barrier."

"Oh, shut up." It was said as Vergil slapped Dante lightly in the forehead, and though, while that wasn't nearly as hard as it normally would have been, at least the action itself was familiar. "Drink up and stop being such a tight ass, man. Or don't you know how to have fun? What, you scared you gonna get cooties or something 'cause I touched you?" It ended with a snort, as Vergil leaned closer, practically ilooming/i over Dante, and that was a situation he _never_ wanted to be in, Vergil in his right mind or not.

"Probably 'cause you do have cooties." Dante brought up a knee, moving to lever Vergil away to give himself a little breathing room, wondering if, as he took a swallow from the bottle, drinking was such a good idea, given the circumstances. But he was _going to stay calm_. That was the most important thing. He just had to remember that Vergil wasn't himself at that moment, and he had to be _patient_, no matter how fucking irritating and clingy the bastard was being. Even if the entire situation was Vergil's fault to begin with.

"Besides," he said, pushing Vergil further away, "you might wanna back up, before I get the wrong idea, you dig?"

Unfortunately for Dante, however, it seemed as though Vergil took that entirely the wrong way. Dante, obviously, hadn't meant that as an invitation, but oh, Vergil seemed to take it as one, and Dante found himself in a precarious position, his knee pushed aside to make room for Vergil, right there between his thighs. No, definitely not something he'd been expecting to happen, though it just figured that Vergil was dirty and wrong even when he was out of his head.

"Dude." It was said as Vergil braced himself on the arm of the couch with his arms, just over Dante by no more than a foot, and really, that was just too damn close. His arms, unfortunately, were pinned between them, where he still clutched the bottle like a life-preserver, and prayed silently to any and everything good and benevolent to get his brother off of him before he had to hurt him. He didn't want to do that, but he would, by God, if he had to. He would.

Okay, sure. Dante was a little panicked. Who wouldn't be? But he was looking for an opening to get Vergil _off_. If his arms had been free, he could have gone for his guns, which were on the coffee table to one side of them, and pistol-whipped the fucker into oblivion, and hope that was enough to make Vergil _right_ (or as right as Vergil had ever been) again.

His eyes darted, once, in that direction, and Vergil's own followed, before he let out a low whistle. "And see, I think there's a whole lot you're not telling me, bro."

Dante squirmed, trying to get a foot up to prop against Vergil's thigh to push off of, only to have Vergil release the arm of the couch and shift one hand to brace against Dante's chest (and that shit hurt), and one to hold him still. It made the panic worse, but his voice was remarkably level, as was his gaze, when he met Vergil's eyes. It wasn't his brother. Maybe...Hell, even if everything that had happened hadn't, that still wasn't his brother.

"I know about as much as you do right now." He took a breath, still searching without being obvious for an exit. "You never tell me a damn thing, you know that? Drag me here, drag me there, get me in all kinds of demonic shit I want no part of, and now look. Look what's done happened." He shifted, finding his arms free, and moved to put the bottle aside on the floor for safe-keeping, getting ready to make his move. He'd just clobber the shit out of Vergil. It would hopefully knock him out, and then Dante could figure out what to do next, though tying Vergil up for a while was definitely in the plan.

"Blah blah blah, are you always such a goddamn stiff?" Not exactly the answer that Dante had expected, even if it was something along the lines he himself would say. It was followed with a snort, before Vergil bent over him again, the front of his hair barely brushing at Dante's nose. And he made a promise, right then and there, he was never going to physically harass Vergil again, if the current mess was ever resolved. He wouldn't! He'd be a good boy and keep his hands to himself and not antagonize, because this was not fun.

Dante tried to pull back, but trapped there between the couch and Vergil as he was, there was just nowhere to go. He couldn't lean back, he couldn't move forward, and his wrists were in Vergil's monkey-like grip, and the fucker was too damn strong for his own good. Yes, he was panicking, because things were...Well, they were taking a turn for the worst, and with him like he was, Dante had no chance at all to fight it.

He visibly cringed when Vergil leant down, Vergil's cheek brushing his own. "You need to learn to loosen up, you know that? There's no secrets between twins. Always heard there weren't any taboos, either." It was ended with a soft, low laugh that was anything but comforting, as far as Dante was concerned, and he felt his teeth clench, as he squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Vergil's tongue swipe up the side of his face. He was never going to do that for laughs again, either, because that was violating. Dante would be the first to admit it.

There wasn't any hiding the fact that he was struggling to get away, squirming as he was to find a way to _get out from under_ Vergil, because no, that was wrong. And Vergil's laugh just pissed him off. He snarled and started prying his hands from where Vergil had trapped them against his chest, bearing his fangs and _feeling_ the shift from blue and white to red and black in his eyes. Every time before that, he'd never been aware of it, but now? Oh, now he was.

And it worked, to a degree, as Vergil took notice and jerked back, as though he'd never seen an eye trigger before. "What the fuck," was all the other twin gave, as he backpeddled a moment, before leaning forward once again, giving his own snarl. "Please." It was said with Vergil's own flash of fang, as though he'd just become aware of them. "You think something like that's gonna _scare_ me? Think again, little bro."

What Dante didn't realize was the fact that, unbeknownst to him, and to Vergil, with all the high-strung, restrained emotion and panic floating around, they were simply feeding one another's demonic sides. It was what was making Dante so angry, and Vergil so determined to _force_ Dante to loosen up, if he wouldn't do so willingly. It didn't help that, unwittingly, that blow to the head was pulling on the darker, more subconscious impulses Vergil's own demonic side had, possibly even without Vergil's knowledge when he was in a stable frame of mind. Those needs to dominate and control the situation, _especially_ where Dante was concerned.

Vergil's other hand released where he'd been holding Dante down by his hip, and Dante found himself slammed back hard against the arm of the couch, his skull cracking against it in an amazingly painful way, enough to get his vision to fuzz over, before his hands were pinned there next to it, wrists bent back so that he couldn't flex his hands at all. He swore to God Vergil was trying to break them, and that would suck.

But his legs were free, and that was all that mattered.

Which was why he brought one up, his boot digging into Vergil's thigh with no concern at all with how bad it had to hurt. Of course not. His brother was trying to _molest_ him, and that meant all nice bets were fucking off. He was going to kick that fucker in the face. He was, and he snarled viciously, bringing back his foot to do just that.

Vergil might have been the really flexible one, but Dante wasn't all that far behind, after all.

It was a very _amused_ laugh that Vergil gave, which, if Dante took the time to think about it, reminded him a hell of a lot like Vergil in his right mind: Laughing at Dante because he was trying to _fight_ Vergil, or something. Well, damn straight he was. His manly virtue was in danger from his _own brother_.

But that was fine, because Dante let his kick fly free, for sure he was going to get Vergil right in his big damn forehead, but then...Dante forgot that Vergil was fast. Even like that, or especially so because he had no control over it, he was fast, and Dante found his ankle caught and yanked back, trying to free himself. Of course, the arm that had been let go for that immediately darted for one of his guns, and he grabbed Ebony by the barrel as he was yanked forward by his leg. It was draped over Vergil's shoulder, and if that didn't set off major alarm bells, nothing would, and he struggled to pull himself upright, determined that if he had to pop his other shoulder out of socket to do it, he would.

His leg was caught, and so was his arm, and he let out a noise of frustration, because the whole thing was really starting to suck a whole lot. "Go to fucking hell, Vergil." His eyes were still that unnatural black and red, growing ever deeper in those colors, and he wasn't aware of it, but dark, veiny lines had started up his neck and across his hands. A sure sign he was truly, honestly pissed off.

But what was he supposed to do? Vergil was a fucking monster, when it came to strength, and with him being so...Out of his goddamn head, Dante was pretty much screwed. Literally and figuratively, it looked like, and he couldn't say he was too fond of that idea.

But Vergil, obviously, was through playing around, and moved forward to pin Dante's squirmy body down with his own. It wasn't very awesome, either, because Dante was stuck anyway, with his leg over Vergil's shoulder, though he was flailing it as best he could, to try and at least get one hit in with his heel; if not Vergil's head, than maybe his shoulder or ribs. And Vergil was heavy, too. Hadn't Dante always said he was a fatass? It was a struggle just to breathe, being bent like that with the added pressure of Vergil's weight.

But he literally saw red, when Vergil leaned closer and gave him a wide, fangy, feral grin before he ducked closer, running his tongue across Dante's lips. That did it. It did. And he guaranteed, when Vergil moved in for the 'kill', so to speak, he didn't expect Dante to be so receptive to it. Of course, the minute they were close enough, Dante lashed out, digging his teeth into Vergil's lip and biting down, hard enough to draw blood, before yanking backward. He was determined he was going to make Vergil ihurt/i, because kidding around and violation were two very different things.

Vergil gave a growl, and pulled backward, making the mistake of letting the arm holding Ebony go. It was obvious he was going to retaliate, and Dante braced himself for it, all the while gripping the barrel tight, before bringing it down, not sparing Vergil iany/i of Dante's strength, on Vergil's temple.

It hurt, it was obvious, with the way Vergil lurched and stopped tugging back, and Dante released Vergil's lip before scrambling in that moment his brother was slack, to plant the foot that had ineffectually hanging over Vergil's shoulder right in Vergil's face, knocking him off. He supposed that was the good thing there: Vergil didn't have the skills at the moment to back up that strength, whereas Dante did, and he wasn't afraid to use them.

As far as Dante saw it, there was only one way to fix that situation, as he scrambled from the couch and backward, as Vergil started to push himself upright again, still dazed.

"You little twat." Vergil spat to the side, to get the blood from his cut lip out of his mouth, before reaching up to finger his temple lightly, where Dante had hit him with the butt of the gun. "What the fuck."

"Yeah? Say goodnight." Dante didn't hesitate, as he aimed and pulled the trigger. He never even heard the gun go off, and barely felt the jolt of it in his head, before he saw the bullet collide with Vergil's forehead, almost in slow motion. The bloodsplatter it left behind, as it tore out the back, left little to the imagination, as far as what kind of damage it had done, and Vergil sat there a moment, half-crouched where he'd been preparing to stand, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he tumbled from the couch, hitting the floor with a thud.

Dante thanked his lucky stars their side of the hotel was practically deserted and that is was the middle of the day. Had it been during the evening, the cops would have been crawling the place faster than Dante could have gotten them out.

Then next hour or so was spent tying Vergil up with the rope in the trunk of the car and cleaning up the hotel room, because God forbid room service find the mess they'd made when they left in the morning. And he was convinced they would be leaving, and that Vergil would be fine. If head trauma had brought on the problem, head trauma would fix it. That was always how it worked on tv, anyway, so it was worth a shot.

And when the cleaning was done, Dante sat on the end of the couch, opposite to where he'd propped Vergil against the wall, guns in his lap. His right was closed around Ivory, fingers twitching over it, as he watched every twitch Vergil gave, ready to plug the bastard again if he woke up pawsy.

Half an hour after he'd started his watch, Vergil stirred for the first time in a significant way, giving a noise of both pain and disgruntlement, before he blinked himself awake and tried to move his arms, only to find them pinned to his sides. He said nothing, but his expression gave away the pissed off confusion he felt at the situation, before he looked up, finding himself staring down the barrel of the lighter colored gun, Dante's red and black eyes just beyond. "...Dante."

And Dante didn't hesitate. "What are the Unsacred Texts of the Koton. Tell me, Vergil. Or I swear to God, I'll give you a new goddamn breathing hole." He had to make sure it was Vergil, otherwise he would, in fact, shoot him again. There was no way in Hell he was going through that again.

"A fucking hoax. And if you don't untie me, when I do get loose - and make no mistake, wibbler, I _will_ - I am going to take that gun, and I am going to shove it _up your ass_." Vergil's own eyes darkened to match Dante's own, but it was something he'd done on purpose. Dante knew that much, because Vergil just...Had better control over that part of himself.

"No sir. We're not done here. Name three magical texts. No using the Necronomicon because that shit doesn't count." Dante slid his finger over the trigger, because it hadn't been there before. And he made sure Vergil saw it. "Now, Vergil."

Vergil gave an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes even though the action caused his head to throb. "Oh, Dante." It was patronizing, the tone of his voice. "You do realize if you shoot me, I won't die, correct?"

"Yeah." Dante's finger twitched there. "But it'll hurt like a bitch."

"Untie me now, Dante, or I'll do it myself." For emphasis, a shard of icy, cerulean blue appeared over Vergil's head, forming itself into a transparent sword. Dante wavered a moment, eyeing the phantom sword, before lowering Ivory to the coffee table before him, moving to slowly deposit Ebony next to it.

"You're not gonna...Try to rape me, are you?" It was said as he moved to stand, and Vergil's answering look told him exactly what Vergil thought about how retarded Dante was being. "I mean it."

"Yes, Dante. Oh, woe, you know how I lust for you. Fucking retard, _untie me_." Vergil squirmed, trying to work his hands to the knots holding him. "I have no idea what you're babbling about, but rest assured I wouldn't touch you through a rubber glove. _Now_."

Dante wasn't entirely convinced, but something just...Felt different. And that was the only reason he moved to comply. Well, that and the fact that they couldn't leave the hotel with Vergil tied up like that. He didn't want to have to explain that one to the cops, or anybody, ever. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

But when he reached Vergil and yanked the knife he carried in his boot out to start sawing through the ropes (he could tie awesome knots, but he'd be damned if he could undo them), he made sure he was leaning away from Vergil, just in case. He didn't want to get pulled in and molested again.

"So, tell me, wibbler. Just _why_ am I tied up?" Vergil glanced over his shoulder, to where he could see Dante as he worked. There was annoyance there, but Dante didn't care. It had been for Vergil's own good.

"Uh, let's not talk about that right now." Seriously. The last thing he wanted to do was rehash Vergil's trying to _rape_ him. The knife slipped through the last few strands of the rope, and Vergil's arms came free, and Dante skittered backward, just in case.

Vergil started for his feet, rubbing at his wrists, before it clicked what he was wearing, and he picked at the shirt a moment, before glancing up at Dante, one eyebrow sharply arched.

"Uh, yeah, it's best not ask."

"...Agreed." If anything, at least Vergil wasn't pushing it. "The ghoul? I assume it's either dead or back in hiding now, yes?"

"I got it." It was said as Dante kept backing away, up until his back hit the wide window looking out onto the beach. Vergil nodded, more to himself than anything, before making his way over to their bags.

"Fine. I'm going to go shower and get out of these disgusting, shaggy mutt tainted clothes. Be a good boy and see about dinner." With that, he gathered up his things and started for the bathroom, leaving Dante to breathe a sigh of relief.

He never thought he'd say it, but he'd definitely take _his_ Vergil over what had happened any day.


	6. How The Gods Kill

"Hey, Verg." They'd stopped in some nowhere town, on their way back up through Georgia on the path to its golden isles (though Dante had been betting they'd be a lot like Florida's beaches; not all they were trumped up to be), to get, of all things, gas. There wasn't another stop between the teeny hole in the wall where they presently stood, and a town called Brunswick, and the car was a little low on the go-juice. But, to be honest, all of the driving (and, in Dante's case, riding and hoping he didn't die from Vergil's driving) had left the younger twin antsy. And so, there they were, Vergil futzing with the cover of the gas cap because he was fucking incompetent, Dante bored out of his mind.

"_What_, Dante." It was more than obvious Vergil was in the best mood ever, which made Dante roll his eyes.

"Hey, you know what I heard? I heard we were part Native American." The snort that answered that was somewhat distracted, as Vergil jiggled at the gas cap, obviously cursing it to hell and back mentally as he did so, before Dante shouldered him out of the way. "Fucking idiot, here." With a twist it came off, and Dante waved it back and forth in front of Vergil's scowling face before placing it on the trunk. "Anyway, yeah. Part Native American."

"Uh huh." Vergil folded his arms, giving Dante one of those looks that meant he thought his little brother was retarded. "Oh, really. And just what tribe would that be, little brother, other than one of questionable genetics, if one were to judge by you?"

"Slapaho." It was said with a grin, before Dante reached over and slapped Vergil, as hard as he could on the side of his face, his palm hitting Vergil's cheek with a sickening pop as Vergil jerked sideways with the blow. Oh, he knew he'd get his ass kicked for that, but it was worth it, really, as Vergil stumbled to the side, giving Dante enough time to dart out of his reach and sprint for the little store behind the pumps. No doubt Vergil would follow, but for a few moments, Dante would be pain-free, and that was what mattered, as he jerked the door open with a jingle of bells, and ducked into its dimly-lit interior.

Inside it was dusty, and it seemed half of the lights overhead had burnt out a long time ago, if they weren't flickering in vain to show they could still work if they wanted to. Dante didn't care. He'd been in worse places over the years, anyway, and it wasn't like they'd had a damn choice. One horse places like the town they'd stopped in didn't give a person a whole lot of options, anyway, and so to Dante it just proved how spoiled Vergil was, when he bitched that the pumps weren't equipped for gas cards.

Fucker was too city-fied for his own good, really.

Thus why Dante had volunteered, before the whole 'slapaho' incident, to pay for the gas outright with cash (because actual paper money in one's wallet seemed to be a foreign concept to the elder twin), just to shut him up. Besides, it meant Vergil would be busy with the pump, and God only knew how long that would take because Vergil was retarded, and Dante could have a moment away from him.

And at least, as far as everything _in_ the store, was up to date, and that was all that mattered, as he woefully bypassed the beer (Vergil had threatened to feed Dante his tongue if he indulged) for something with a high caffeine content before making his way back up to the front, where the cashier was engrossed with a potato chip. Admittedly, he figured it was because she was...Rather large (more like ameobic in shape) and kind of gross, but really. He'd never seen a fatty (yes, he thought that term to himself) would be so entranced by something like a potato chip.

Even as he made it to the counter and set his bottle there in front of him, she didn't glance up, still squinting at the chip with beady, piggy little eyes. "Hey." The inbreeding was strong there, if Dante had judged it right. "You look like one'a them educated fellas. S'that look like Jesus to you?" And she held the chip out, for Dante to inspect. "I think I got me one'a them miracle pictures."

Dante, for a moment, was so taken aback he couldn't help but comply, glancing to the chip she held out before shaking himself back to reality. "You know." It was said as he slid the bottle forward, closer, to her to get her attention, "Pareidolia isn't a sacred thing. It's demonic. You know, like bleeding statues? That has nothing to do with Heaven. Oh, and I need whatever dumbass out there is pumping in gas."

Outside, Vergil was struggling with the hose attached to the pump. The southern climate had not been kind to the rubber coating of the hose, and the nozzle was simply being beligerent, as he tried his damndest to get it to submit and go _into the gas tank_...Hole...Thingy. It was hard, however, as he almost tripped himself on it and caught himself against the side of the car before turning around, finding a boy, probably around the age of thirteen and obviously inbred, right in his personal area grinning at him with the scariest teeth Vergil had ever laid eyes on.

For someone who regularly dealt with things of a demonic nature, that truly said something.

He shuffled back in horror, arms coming up to his chest in a reflexive and defensive gesture, as he unconsciously squeezed the trigger of the gas nozzle, sending gas splattering to the pavement below. "Gah, what the fuck."

For several long, painful moments, the boy just grinned at him with those iteeth/i, scaring the living shit out of Vergil, honestly and completely, before he turned away. "Hey, _Pa_."

Vergil had to wonder who, in that day and age, still called their father 'pa'. It was baffling. And a little disconcerting, when he realized who 'Pa' was. He'd joked about inbred and sweaty, oversized farmers stealing Dante away, and oh, how funny it would have been to see it happen, before Vergil had to do the big brother thing and kill them all for so much as glancing at Dante the wrong way, but when he found himself staring at the living and breathing specimen of his taunts and Dante's nightmares...He wasn't sure how, exactly, he was supposed to react.

"What is it, boy? I told you t'stay in tha truck." And what a truck it was. Or something. Vergil didn't know. He didn't care. He wanted the gross inbred people _away_ from him. That was all that mattered, and they were all coming far too close for comfort.

And he didn't realize he was still squeezing the gas nozzle's trigger, either.

"What is he, Pa?" And with that, the little inbred heathen _pointed_ at Vergil with one long, dirty finger, and God only knew where it had been. He'd heard stories about their kind, yes he had, and he wanted those digits nowhere near him. Even Dante wasn't that dirty.

"What you mean, boy?"

"He's a man, ain't he?" And he was still pointing, as though Vergil couldn't very well hear and see everything they said and did. It was tempting to scare the living hell out of _them_, with his own special little tricks, but he certainly didn't feel like Dante bitching at him about making the locals scream and die of heart attacks. "But he's purdy like a girl, ain't he?"

"What."

"Now what'd I tell you 'bout molestin' them city folk?" Vergil was going to kill them all. He was. The powerful smell of gasoline hit him, suddenly, and sparked an idea, as he released the trigger finally, before managing to get it to the...Hole thingy in the side of the car. Oh, he'd run up the gas price because of it, but Dante was handling that, so it didn't matter, anyway. At least it was one of the ones with the latch, so he could be hands off as it filled the gas tank, as he backed away, to the front driver's window of the car and leaned in through the window which, thankfully, was down, finding Yamato and pulling it to him like a security blanket.

Even if he'd never admit that.

Back inside, Dante was waiting on Vergil to finish with the gas, listening to the woman ramble on about some church or another she went to. If one were to ask him, she sounded like one of those crazy snake-handling motherfuckers, though he thought they weren't allowed to wear pants or cut their hair or wear make up, and she had the grossest, most skin-tight pair of jogging pants he'd ever seen on, and eyeshadow so blue, Vergil would have been jealous of the color. And he wasn't even going to start on how she looked like an eighties reject with the boufant hair.

"An' I tol' Mary Sue Ellen Jesup she needed to pray, because she said the same thing you did. She ain't never been right since she came back from that fancy college over there'n Valdosta, y'know. All that book learnin's done turnt her away from the Lord." Dante's eyes had completely glazed over, before he shook himself and pushed himself upright from where he'd started to slump against the counter.

"You must be one'a them fancy city boys from Atlanta or Jacksonville, huh?"

"Uh, no, I'm from New York." For the moment. That's where his shop was, and that's where he was staying. Well. Once the stupid roadtrip Vergil had dragged him on was over.

"Well that explains it, comin' from that modern day Babylon."

The south was so backward it was almost cute. "Yeah, something like that. Hey, is he done with that gas yet?" Dante glanced out the dirty window, where he could see Vergil replacing the nozzle on the pump with a good bit of struggle.

"Yep, he's done."

And it wasn't much longer, before Dante came out, scowling. He hoped Vergil was happy, because that had effectively _cleaned out his wallet_, and he didn't think his car held _that_ much gas. Of course, all was explained, when he drew near and the smell of it nearly knocked him over. "Vergil."

A hand was clamped over his mouth, though Vergil didn't look at him. "Dante. Put the gas cap back on and get in the car." If Dante was expecting Vergil to explain, he was wrong, and grumbled to himself as he moved to just comply and get it over with.

Vergil, once he heard the car door shut behind Dante, pointed to the gas puddle drifting slowly away from where it had originally started, and said, rather blandly, "Oh my God, does that look like Jesus?" When the yokels (several of which had started to gather because of the 'city folk') turned to look, Vergil turned on his heel and almost ripped the driver side door off climbing in, before fumbling at the dash console and digging out one of the matchbooks with one hand, cranking the car with the other. A foot mashed the brake, as Vergil said, rather offhand, "Dante, be a good boy and shift us out of park, would you?"

Dante gave him a look, but moved to do as he was asked anyway. "What're you doing with that matchbook?"

He got his answer as the match Vergil had torn free caught fire, and after a few moments of holding it to the others, the whole booklet was flaming. "Purging." And with that, his other foot mashed the gas as he released the brake, at the same time tossing the booklet out of the window and shifting beyond first with a squeal of the tires.

Dante, honestly, wasn't all that surprised, even as he moved to turn in his seat as they, honestly, hauled ass out of the parking lot. "Vergil, that's not gonna work." For a moment, it didn't even begin to register how different his brother's driving was at that moment than it normally was, because he was too busy gawking behind them.

Vergil reached over and grabbed him by the back of his pants, yanking him back down into the seat once more. "Buckle in." Dante turned to smart off at him, when a loud, thunderous noise sounded behind them, and the frame of the car shook violently before Dante started scrambling up into the seat once more. The gas station was obscured in a column of orange flame and black smoke, and for a moment, Dante could only gawk, open-mouthed, before slowly letting himself drop back into the seat, staring at Vergil with wide eyes.

"What the fuck." And after a moment, "That better not have fucked up the paint job."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** If you've never been to South Georgia, trust me. There are people like that down here. I would know: Not only do I live here, I work in an auto parts store. YOU do the math.


	7. My Brother The Jackass

His brother? Was an asshole.

There was no getting around that fact, and it rang especially true as Dante found himself forced in line at Starbucks (of all places), all because Vergil had had to stop on their way through Kentucky. It was stupid. It was ridiculous, and the way Vergil snipped, snapped, and bitched at everyone and everything around him proved that fact.

As of that moment, he was currently snarking under his breath about the individual in front of them. Okay, yeah, so they were...Scarily obese, but the least Vergil could do, Dante figured, was to tell them that to their face, and not comment on it where only Dante could make out the words. Sometimes it sucked, having such sharp demonic hearing.

"Look at him. He's disgusting. How, oh how, do individuals let themselves _go_ like that?"

"Probably the same way you electrocute yourself to get that stupid hair do." It was said at a normal volume, and sure enough, a few patrons in the dimly lit interior turned to look. A few of those few even snickered before looking away quickly when Vergil scowled deeply at them.

A dark glance was thrown over Vergil's shoulder at Dante, along with a slight show of fang. "Shut up, wibbler, before I eat your face off."

"Now, pumpkin, I told you. Not in public." Dante grinned, and because they were in public (oh, he would suffer for it later), leaned over and planted a wet, loud, messy little-brother kiss, right on Vergil's cheek.

For a moment, nothing at all happened, as Dante drew back, still grinning. He was going to get away with it. Of course he was, because Vergil wouldn't string him up by his intestines _there_; he was waiting on his coffee, after all.

However, out of nowhere was the resounded smack of palm against face, and then, of course, pain, as Vergil simply...Backhanded the hell out of Dante. "Filthy little monkey." Another slap was delivered, on the opposite cheek, and Dante stumbled to the side with it. "Now I'll have to _bleach everything_."

Dante glanced up, from where he was holding his hands to his burning cheeks as though that would ease the pain, barely holding back from rolling his eyes. See? Bastard. He straightened and dropped his hands, before giving Vergil a rough shove forward. "Stop being a little bitch and pay attention."

He'd shoved Vergil hard enough, and it amused Dante so, so that Vergil was sent stumbling right into the obese lump of man in front of them, and Vergil jumped back like a scalded cat, arms drawing into himself protectively as the glob turned around - not because he was scared of getting his ass kicked, no, but because he'd _touched_ him and that was _gross_.

"What the hell are you staring at," Vergil snapped at him, making little 'shoo' motions with one hand. "Go. Clog your arteries with more cheesecake muffins. Shoo."

Dante slapped his forehead with a hand, rolling his eyes. It was just more proof, really, that he couldn't take Vergil anywhere. "Verg." And of course, a finger was pointed back at Dante, though Vergil didn't turn around. "Vergil. Get your fucking finger outta my face or I will _bite it off_."

"Go touch yourself in the bathroom, you dirty little sheepdog."

Dante, honestly, made a vow right then and there, that he was never going to go with Vergil to Starbucks ever again. It wasn't worth the headache, and the coffee sucked, anyway. And there was a Waffle House across the street, which sealed the deal. "Tell you what," he said, patting Vergil on a shoulder before pushing his way out of line. "I'm gonna run to Waffle House. You? Don't kill anybody while I'm gone."

He dug in his pocket a moment before extracting the car keys, and dangled them in the air as he backed away. "Don't get any funny ideas about the car, either." And with that, he was gone, pushing his way out a side door. There was no way in hell he was going to do that again.


	8. Serpentia

How they'd even ended up in the bar was beyond Vergil. How he _himself_ had ended up there was beyond any sort of rationalization, that he'd given up trying to make sense of it long before, though he was still fighting urges to go back to the car and take off. Not that that was a truly viable plan, as Dante had the keys, and Vergil, while intelligent, wasn't exactly skilled in hotwiring vehicles. Not like the clunky thing Dante had found himself and prized over everything in the world.

It was really hilarious. His guns, his car, and his shop. All three hardly worth the effort, and all three things he'd willingly draw true blood over, the little inept idiot.

And so there Vergil sat, in a dark corner of the bar, arms folded across his chest as though he could sink into the shadows and flitter away, waiting on Dante. Why he was being so patient with the little wibbler, he could hardly guess. Why he'd stepped _foot_ in the place, other than he simply hadn't been paying attention, was Vergil's giant irk of the night.

And there Dante was, on the other end of the bar, still perfectly in Vergil's line of vision (unfortunately, as he couldn't get away from the retard), chatting up, in Vergil's opinion, two typical floozies that hung around places like that, as though he'd forgotten his brother _existed_. Which was just lovely, really, because Vergil had _completely_ intended on spending his night that way. He had things to be doing, not babysitting his whore of a brother.

And of course the _female_ whores were responding favorably. Why wouldn't they? Vergil was well aware he and his brother were attractive. Well. Dante had potential, if he'd stop being such a shaggy mutt, but that was neither here nor there. The fact was, Vergil was being forced to _wait_, and he was not a patient man.

Enough was enough, really, as Vergil slapped a hand against the table and rose to his feet, before slipping around the table's edge and starting in Dante's direction. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to take that beer bottle from Dante, he was going to bash his itty bitty brother over the head with it, and he was going to take the retard's keys and _leave_. There was plenty Dante didn't know, nor did he need to, about their 'trip', but as it was, he was wasting time. And that just wouldn't do, not with everything else, and Vergil truly, honestly hoped Dante realized that this was not winning him any points in Vergil's little black mental book of Dante's offenses, be they real or imaginary.

When he drew closer, however, something felt off. Very off, in fact, which would explain a lot. Like how Dante hardly acknowledged him in the first place. God forbid the idiot miss a chance to take a potshot at the elder twin, after all.

"Dante." It was waved off, with a darted glare. It was plain that Dante thought Vergil was cramping his style. Pity for him, Vergil didn't care, as he gave the closest woman to him a disinterested once-over, noting the serpent tattoo on shoulder. Nothing, really, interesting about it, except the feeling persisted. "Dante, I'm not going to ask again. We leave. Now."

"Pfft." Two fingers were placed against Vergil's forehead, and he gave him a slight push, to get the elder moving. "See, ladies. And this is why you don't let family tag along." Dante put his beer bottle aside, before fishing his keys from his pocket and tossing them to Vergil. "Here. Go if you want. I, uh, think I got tonight covered." It was ended with a wink at the two, one a brunette, one a redhead, and they giggled, giving Vergil a far more interested once-over than he had them.

"Oh, Dante." And it was said as he glanced at the one with the tattoo. "What have I always told you, brother?"

"Yeah, yeah, skin me alive, eat my face, gut me and hang me by my intestines, blah blah, we've been through this, so scram."

The other wore snakeskin, which just flat out pissed Vergil off. If done _tastefully_ snakeskin was not tacky or trashy (his formal clothes came to mind there), however she was just _doing it wrong_, and redheads were bad news in Vergil's opinion, besides. However, combined with the other's tattoo, and that persistant feeling that all was not right...Well. It was just a coincidence. Nothing more to it.

Vergil hooked the keys around a finger by the ring, contemplating bashing Dante with the bottle, anyway, because it would be more than satisfying to watch the idiot flop to the ground like the retard he was, but instead gave a miffed sniff. "Have it your way, sugarplum." His tone couldn't get flatter if he tried, really. "However, when it burns when you have to go potty, don't come crying to me."

"Man...Get the fuck outta here." Dante gave his forehead another shove, and was lucky Vergil wasn't looking to completely dehibilitate him, because it was a very viable option, as Dante kept _touching him_. But that was fine! Vergil would just beat him twice as badly the next time he deserved it.

He did, however, reach across the space between them and slap Dante in the back of the head, none too gently, before turning on heel to leave. "Remember what I said. And don't come find me later if you find yourself all by your wittle lonesome."

He was tempted to not even glance back, as he started away, but he wanted to make sure Dante understood he meant business. He didn't want the little retard either interrupting his sleep or his studies just because he'd had his fun and had decided to come 'home'. For that? Vergil would gut him. And would dump him on some sidewalk to sleep it off. He honestly had no time for the brat's wibbling.

Not that what he saw when he did so helped the situation any. The brunette had sidled close to Dante (which wasn't surprising, because the boy was a whore), but it was more what she did. Dante was oblivious, of course. That was how it always went. But she waggled her fingers at Vergil, as he was leaving, before, and he wondered for a moment if he was seeing things, a very serpentine tongue slithered out of her mouth, as though testing the air.

Vergil's steps slowed, before it all clicked together in his head, alarmingly slow, if one were to ask him. After all, it had all been laid before him, and he simply had dismissed it as his imagination. But that sealed it.

He guaranteed he moved quicker than they had counted on. Even Dante hadn't noticed (again, par for the course, because the idiot was getting taken in hook, line, and sinker). But that was fine. It had given Vergil the jump on the situation as he closed the distance between himself and his brother, yanking him off of the bar and going right underneath his shirt to where he knew at least one of his guns were.

Vergil didn't like them, but that was beside the point. This? Would serve as two lessons for his slow, inept little brother.

It was Ivory he grabbed, and while the weight was clunky and unfamiliar in his hand, and felt slightly awkward, that was fine, too. He adjusted to it quick enough, not hesitating in the slightest in the slight commotion his actions had caused, and put one bullet in the brunette's forehead. The drop she gave was for effect, though the splatter of blood and the smoking hole were not, and he knew that, but it didn't stop him from doing the same to the redhead, secretly and inwardly a little impressed how well the gun handled. Not that he expected any different, with the way Dante babied them.

"Dude!" It had happened so fast, it was obvious Dante hadn't a clue in the world what to think. "...Dude, you don't...But you...You don't even _like_ guns." It was funny, to Vergil, how that was the first thing out of Dante's mouth. Not 'you just cost me getting laid' or 'don't touch my shit'. No. He had to state the obvious in another way.

"Liking." It was said as he held the gun out for Dante to take, which was done slowly. "And knowing how to use them are two separate things, little brother." No one had ever said, after all, that Vergil was gun-ignorant. He was far from it. He simply thought they were dishonorable. This? Didn't count. Because of what the women _were_. Underhanded methods for underhanded creatures. Eye for an eye. That sort of thing.

"But...Dude." It was said as Dante was shoved out of the way by a few of the patrons headed for the back door, the screaming having started.

Vergil sighed. "Oh, but this is going to be messy. Be a good boy and get the car ready." The keys Vergil had been holding in his free hand were tossed at Dante as he undid the front of his jacket, revealing where he'd been carrying Yamato. "I have to do a little cleaning."

"...What?" Dante barely got it out, before the tip of the blade knicked his nose as it swung past, effectively and completely decapitating the bartender, who'd been going for the phone. There was a dramatic gush of blood, as the body kept moving for a few seconds under sheer velocity of movement, before it dropped to the ground with a sickening and wet thud.

"Go. I won't ask again." And that time, Vergil absolutely meant it.

"Dude...But..." Dante just didn't comprehend, and it was obvious. And Vergil knew why, of course. He figured his brother had finally lost it, and had started butchering for no reason.

"They're lamia. Now, if you're a good boy and get the car started, I'll tell you _all_ about them on the way out of town. Now _go_." As emphasis, he put the sharpened side of his blade to Dante's neck, ushering him to follow those rushing out of the back door.

And, of course, just as Dante had started to comply, something niggled at the edge of his senses, and he swung around in the opposite direction, catching said lamia in the throat. What disturbed him was how the blade hung in her spine, before he put the rest of his stength behind it, tearing through. Black blood gushed, which quickly morphed, instead, into little black snakes, hissing and squirming as they fought their way across the floor, disappearing in the cracks.

Oh, Vergil loathed lamia.

The second started to rise as well, fangs bared, looking...Well. Hungry. That was what their kind did, after all. Not that Vergil gave her much of a chance to get her fangs into _him_, before giving her the same treatment he had her clutchmate. The snakes writhed over his boots as they sought nooks and crannies to disappear into, and no doubt they'd reform later, when it was 'safe'. Lamia were damn hard to kill, and to be frank, Vergil didn't anticipate staying long enough to worry about it.

He'd just raze the bar to the ground, and take care of it all together.

"I thought I told you to go."

It was said as Dante stepped out of the shadow he'd backed into (Vergil should have known better than to think Dante would _leave_), rubbing at his knicked nose and the slight cut on his neck. "Please." He snorted, as he picked his way over the snakes to where Vergil was standing. "You just killed somebody to Johnny Cash. You're my fucking hero."

Vergil cut him a sidelong look and then glanced at the jukebox across the room, realizing, yes, it was Johnny Cash it was playing, before running Yamato's blade between his fingers, cleaning it of blood, and resheathing it. "Well. No damage done. You can help me burn it."

"I thought we were over that whole arson thing." Dante gestured and followed right behind Vergil as the elder twin made his way behind the bar. "You know. That hotel? And...And that gas station with the inbred hillbillies? I thought we agreed you wouldn't do this shit anymore."

"No." It was said as Vergil poked among the bottles and started handing them off to Dante. "You wibbled and whined, and I nodded like I was listening. There's a distinct difference there. Start emptying these from the back of the room foward." He gave a mock gasp, with a dramatic widening of his eyes. "I'm even sparing you from lighting the fire yourself. Now go."

It wasn't like Dante had much of a choice, and he moved away to do as Vergil said, as much as Vergil could hear him bitching about it under his breath. At least, in the panic of the patrons leaving, someone had been dumb enough to leave behind their zippo, which served Vergil just fine as he scooped it up and pocketed it. It wasn't like he regularly carried matches with him, because he wasn't a pyro. Really. It was simply that fire solved a lot of problems.

One day Dante would see the beauty and truth in that.

When Dante made his way back over, and to the front of the room, Vergil stepped out from behind the bar, after finding nothing else of interest. Of course not. It was a hillbilly bar, really, in a hillbilly town. "Now. The car. Shoo."

Like Dante needed to be told twice at that point. Really, it wasn't like he still didn't think Vergil had flipped his lid. He obviously had no idea what a lamia was, or exactly how much danger he'd been in. He should have been kissing his big brother's ass for saving him, and instead gave him lip as he made his way out of the front doors, grumbling about Vergil being a pyromaniac brother-molester.

Vergil was unamused.

But that was fine, too. He'd let Dante have it in the car, as he lit the zippo and tossed it into a stack of papers behind the bar before strolling out casually to meet Dante at the car. And there the wibbler sat, in the driver's seat as though he had good sense. Vergil had no qualms about walking around to that side, and after opening the door, bringing up a boot and roughly nudging Dante over. "Move."

"Fuck you." Dante clung to the steering wheel, only to get prodded, hard, in the side with Yamato after Vergil had untied the sheath from his belt.

"_Move_." It was punctuated with another kick, before Dante grudgingly started sliding across the seat.

"You fucking owe me."

"I pay you with my wonderful attention and unyielding love." It dripped with sarcasm, as Vergil slid in and pulled the door shut behind him. "You're lucky you chose to do this here, and not in a larger city, you wibbly retard."

"Shut up, seriously." Dante flopped back in his seat, the picture of wibbly defeat. "That's it. You can't go anywhere anymore. Every time you do, we end up having to run for it. No more. I will kick your fucking teeth in, I swear to God."

"You sit over there and wibble like a good boy." Like Vergil honestly cared. Really. Big fat baby. "Besides, you should be thanking me, you ungrateful bastard. Believe me when I say they would have sucked you dry, bestest little brother in the whole wide world, and not in a way your filthy self would have liked."

"Uh huh." Dante dug around under the seat a moment, before coming back up with a bottle he'd filched and hidden away so that Vergil wouldn't know he'd taken it. "Sorry, but after that? I'd rather not remember the fact that you _burned something else down_."

"You wino." It was puntuated with the bottle opening with a pop, and Vergil rolled his eyes, before glancing in the rearview mirror, where an orange glow was starting to show, from the bar. One less eyesore, two less whores in the world...Vergil honestly didn't see what was so bad about it. And if that bottle kept Dante quiet? He didn't care about that, either.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And...There's chapter eight. Only seven more to go before I get to the new stuff. x.x


	9. Pinion

He slept like the dead. Once Dante was rendered unconscious, usually with the help of whatever bottle he'd thought he'd snuck in under Vergil's nose, he rarely woke again. Outside of the rare nightmare, he slept like the dead, and it was more than a pain in the ass to get him up and moving again, if he didn't sleep the full...Well. Vergil had never counted how many hours it was, exactly, that Dante would snore away in a haze of obliviousness. He knew much about Dante, more than he guessed his little brother was aware of, but he wasn't _that_ fixated on the younger twin.

Often.

But the point of it was, it was a very human thing; to sleep in that fashion, and for that long, simply wasn't how they worked. It wasn't _needed_, but Dante insisted it was, anyway. The answer to _why_ was simple: He was too human. And because he was too human, it directly corollated with the fact that he was _weak_. Oh, Dante had a trick or two up his sleeve, but he shied from what he had the potential of becoming, because he feared it. Vergil wasn't stupid; he noticed things.

But, most of the time, though Vergil outwardly and inwardly complained and ripped on the younger twin for the laziness of such a thing, there was a tiny, tiny part of him that was glad of it. It meant, while Dante was dead to the world, he could go about his own business without the younger twin being the wiser. It wasn't because he was _ashamed_; Vergil didn't know shame, or remorse, in the fashion most did. It was more because he didn't have to deal with Dante's constant badgering about everything, down to why he'd breathed funny.

Dante could say what he wanted, but sometimes, honestly, Vergil wondered which twin was more preoccupied with which.

But that really wasn't important, was it? Not when there were reasons for everything. Well. There were reasons for everything on his own end; of Dante, he was absolutely certain the majority of it came from his brother's 'it was a good idea at the time' mentality. The boy was _retarded_. Absolutely so, and for all the reasons Vergil had ever pointed out to him, and more that he hadn't. Because not only was he retarded, he was _blind_. Vergil guaranteed Dante couldn't find his ass with both hands even if he were handed a map with directions drawn on it in red crayon.

But it wasn't something he was actively trying to _change_. Well. That would be a lie. There were some things: Dante could stand to be a bit more put together, a bit more accepting that he was what he was and there was going to be no way he could lie to himself forever about that, but on the whole, he allowed Dante to wallow in his own shallow, meaningless existence without much outward interference at all. Private interference...Well. That was another matter altogether.

But there was a downside to the fact that Dante was a complete narcoleptic. There was! It left Vergil, in places where he had no business, far too much time to think, much like at that moment, where he hadn't bothered with being quiet for the sake of his snoring brother but a few feet away, but because it was forced, ingrained habit by that point. And all the better, he figured, as he moved closer, if that should be the one time Dante woke, flailing from another silly nightmare (the last had been about giant pink spiders, of all things, and the time before that, a marshmallow eating him, as the fool had caught himself under the pillows).

And Vergil was thinking, and thinking hard. He'd had two options, when he'd dragged his brother from a somewhat comfortable existence into the 'road trip' they were still on, and even then, Vergil had made sure to keep both bases covered. On one hand, he could continue as he had been, and find other methods for what he sought: True enough, they were there, and accessible if he strove for them. A bit messier than he'd have liked, over the long haul, but all the while viable, and all the while kept alive. On the other...Well. He could have simply turned things on their heads with a negligable amount of difficulty and gotten the same results, and much, much quicker than the first.

He paused there, before crouching down, next to the bed, not to watch Dante sleep (because, honestly, that was far out there, even for himself), but being more interested in the seemingly harmless trinket hanging around his brother's neck. It was lifted carefully, from where it had slipped from its customary place against Dante's chest, to rest against the mattress of the bed, as Vergil was careful not to tug the chain. Dante slept like the dead, true, but some things sent him bolting for those silly guns of his. He guessed, given the amulet's origin in Dante's mind, it would be one of those.

He really wasn't looking to take another bullet between the eyes, after all.

It was ugly. There was no escaping that. He, nor Dante, had thought so, when they'd received them years ago upon a birthday, but that was all there was to it. They were ugly, and they were clunky, but they were so much more than a sentimental trinket passed down from their mother. Dante didn't know it. He didn't need to. Not yet. He'd acknowledged that once before, in an underground cavern in Georgia, and it held true then, as well. Vergil had yet to make up his mind as to what direction to take. Because what he wore carefully hidden under his own clothing, and what he turned over in his palm, where it still hung around his brother's neck, were so much more than a silly bauble passed down from their mother.

They were the keys to power. Power, for all of Vergil's knowledge in it, he could barely _begin_ to fathom, and power that was rightfully his. He was the eldest son of Sparda, after all, status as an identical twin aside. It did go, in most estimations, that the eldest inherited the bulk of the family fortune. And it was the kind of 'fortune' Dante wouldn't begin to know how to handle, or use, or even _acquire_. Which made Vergil and even more fitting candidate.

Were he to choose that path, it would mean walking into the very maw of what wished to destroy them. And he didn't begin to dream that, once his clueless little brother had added two and two correctly in his head, that he wouldn't face some opposition. But what his brother failed to realize was that Vergil was not adverse to maiming to be kind. Were he to choose that path, it would, no doubt, drive the loathing that was there between them deeper, and twist it, but it was for Dante's own good, honestly. Dante would never reach his full potential because his fear, and his attempts to rationalize everything hampered him. It gimped him in such a way as to make him all but useless, for that.

Were Dante of a more...Parallel mindset, Vergil could have possibly considered forcing his assistance, but as it were, that simply wouldn't happen. So, no. If he were to choose that path, at some point in the future, he would take what he needed and cripple Dante just long enough to get the job done. No need for overkill, after all; waste not, want not, and all of that.

But he hadn't decided, which was why, after brushing his thumb negligently over the crude 'Dante' scratched into the back of the setting, he replaced it where it had rested and stood, before moving away from the bed. There was still time, for that. Though both options, and the road trip itself were vaguely connected, it wasn't at the forefront of this thoughts. Not recently, anyway. It was simply his having too much time to sit and contemplate (Vergil did not _brood_ or _obsess_) things that had no place in the present day.


	10. Bella Donna

"Well, hello there, House of Usher." It was accompanied by a low whistle, as Dante peered out through the windshield at the dark, foreboding house towering above the car; it was a decrepit thing, as far as he could make out, the walls offering shelter to tangled vines of ivy which looked, to be perfectly honest, like black snakes crawling up its sides in the dark. He couldn't tell if the windows still remained, and the front steps were warped with age; if he really wanted to get technical, and he could, it looked like the foundation had settled and cracked as well. All in all, it certainly wasn't the most welcoming or homey place in the world. "Why are we here again?"

"Stop pretending like you _read_, Dante. We all know you saw that when you paused at the History Channel." It was said with a scathing sideglance from Vergil, before he moved to open the driver's side door. "We're here because I said so. That is all you, you simpleton, need to know on the subject." The door was pushed open and Vergil started to climb out, narrowly missing being slapped by the hand Dante flung out in a half-hearted back-slap. "Now, come on. We don't have all night."

"Fucking prick." Dante's own door was shouldered open, and he started after Vergil, letting the door slam behind him once he'd cleared it. "Seriously. Is this another 'rape Dante' plan? Because if it is, I'll wait in the car. That shit's not funny. Rape is _serious business_, Vergil. I'm your _brother_. That's just dirty and wrong."

"Yes, Dante." It was said over Vergil's shoulder, monotone, as he made his way up to the house, pausing at the warped steps and turning around. "I brought you here to ravish you. Never mind the fact that the car could serve the same purpose. No. I'm going to take you in the house. Bend you over the kitchen counters, perhaps. With your hair as leverage." With an eyeroll, he turned once more and started up the steps, ignoring the protesting creak they gave at his weight.

"Now, see." Dante, ever the brilliant one, started up after him, glaring at a spot between his brother's shoulder blades. "That's way too detailed for a smartass come back. You've _thought_ about this shit, haven't you? You sick fuck. Seriously. That ain't natural, Vergil. Now, I know you're real fucked up in the head, but truly. _Incest is not the best_. You don't, I _promise you_, need to put your brother to the test. Because your brother will kick your fucking teeth down yo-"

He was cut off when Vergil slapped a hand over his mouth, along with passing on a warning glare. "Dante." It was deceptively soft, which meant that yes, Vergil was holding his temper in check, and probably by its last string. "I suggest, little brother, you stop. Right. There. Before I get nasty. If you need _any_ help in that department, I want you to remember the phrase 'self-fulfilling prophesy', hmm?"

Dante's eyes were wide, as that sunk in, over where Vergil's hand had clamped over his nose and mouth, and he gave a slight nod, because no. No, he did not want to find out what part of that 'self-fulfilling prophesy' Vergil planned on proving right. And as far as he was concerned, Vergil had been acting funny anyway, ever since that whole incident where he'd lost his memory. Well. About some things. Most of the time he was just _Vergil_, but there was something there that Dante couldn't quite put his finger on that just seemed...Off.

And he gave an audible sigh of relief when Vergil moved away, dropping his hand as he did so. "Right. So." He cleared his throat, a bit uncomfortably, because. Well. It was obvious why. Whatever else he'd been going to say flitted away, and he shut his mouth with a snap, waving a hand uselessly.

"I'm going to the basement. Wander if you must, but I'm sure you can feel the entities here as well as I can." Vergil glanced back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing sharply; the only sign of amusement he gave. "Don't do anything stupid. I'm afraid I'll be far too busy to yank your skinny ass out of trouble. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, jackass." Fuckface. Seriously. Who the fuck did Vergil think he was? Dante glared after him, before moving in the opposite direction, not at all on guard. Why should he have been? He could feel what was there: It wasn't anything to have _him_ worried. Maybe for a prancing sugarpants like his brother, but not him.

The house was dark, unbelievably so, and he had to strain his vision to see clearly. That was new, because it was rare he ever had to do so, thanks to the gifts 'Daddy' had passed down to both sons. And, he decided, as he moved through the main front room and into what looked like it could have, at one point in time, been a sunroom, whoever had lived there had been a packrat. It was full of dusty furniture and antiques (though he guessed some of them were 'new', when the house had last seen use), and rugs covered the wood floor ever few feet. He almost snorted at it all, really; it was the stereotypical haunted house look.

"Gee," he said outloud, to himself, "maybe I should get the number of their interior decorator, huh?"

Meanwhile, all the while Dante was snarking about the state the house was in, Vergil had found the stairs to the basement; it was an oddity of the time period, when the house was built, and he knew why. The owner hadn't been a very savory individual, and had kept...An assortment of oddities there, outside the reach of prying eyes: That included live ones, as well, though they were long gone.

He moved silently and swiftly down the somewhat rickety steps, deeper into the gloom, until he was forced to reach for the lighter he'd shoved in his pocket and give it a flick, illuminating the small area around him. He was lucky, he supposed, that things were just as he'd been told they would be, and close at hand on a shelf rested a few new candles (though it was expected, it wasn't comforting), along with holders. He took a moment to light one, before moving deeper, stepping through an archway into a room lined with shelves of books, glass jars filled with all manners of repulsive, dirty things, and he could only guess what else, as he didn't examine it all that carefully from top to bottom.

He didn't really _care_, to be honest. He had more important things to worry about than the predalictions of the madman who'd once resided there.

He searched for a moment in the area he'd been directed to, in a conversation before he and Dante had crossed paths once more, before finding the title he was looking for and withdrawing it from the shelf, sending up a cloud of dust as he did so. At least that was somewhat reassuring: It hadn't been disturbed in a quite a while.

Book obtained, he moved over to the solitary table in the room and sat the candle down, and next to it the book, before flipping it open and beginning to skim, never hearing the approaching footsteps from behind.

Dante, in true Dante fashion, clunked his way around the first floor, finding absolutely _nothing_ interesting. Well. That was a lie. He'd had some fun amusing himself with the bearskin rug in what had been the library, making it talk to the stuffed deer heads on the walls (he'd even thought about stealing it to scare the shit out of Vergil), but that had gotten old after a while, and he'd moved on. The deeper he moved, the more he became convinced of the past owner's packrat status.

When he'd entered the kitchen, he'd completely forgotten Vergil's threat, and had clunked around, poking in cabinets to find jars full of...Well, they were so old, he couldn't have begun to guess what they contained, and a few old newspapers, dated 1910, littering the floor. It was only until he'd paused, contemplating going through the things that might be hidden under the shelves of the counters, that he remembered Vergil's little comment about bending Dante over them, and he gave a look around, eyes wide, before deciding it was best just to move on like he hadn't been there.

So it was to the stairs, which he started up heavily, paying no mind to the noises they made with each step he took. If they fell through, they fell through, and that would be his mistake. Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't catch himself and land on his feet if they did, so that worry never even entered his mind.

On the landing, he was faced with a row of doors. And it just wasn't in Dante's nature to leave things unexplored, really. So, moving to the first, he tried the knob and found it unlocked, and pushed the door open to find himself facing a nursery. And it was creepy. Dante would swear up and down until the day he died that nothing would ever creep him out more than an abandoned nursery, and though he couldn't really explain _why_, it probably had something to do with something deeply rooted in his own psychological make up or something. He didn't really care. All he knew was that it was creepy, and he was dumb enough to go on in.

Vergil, again, hadn't heard the footsteps, and had something not niggled at the edge of his senses, he might not have noticed it at all. Pity for them, he did, as he turned, hand already moving to rip Yamato free from its sheath. What he saw standing before him, however, surprised him, and he narrowed his eyes, giving 'her' a once over.

'She' was probably five foot eleven, curvy, and built to generate just the thoughts Vergil knew his brother would voice aloud, were he there. But she wasn't human. His nose told him that much, and his grip tightened on Yamato further, as he took a step back. "Well, not exactly what I was expecting to find when I came here."

She laughed, brushing her hair, a long, lustrous black, over her shoulders. "And why should you? But you know what they say about these old houses. You never know what kind of treasure you'll stumble across." She clucked her tongue at his grip on his weapon, before taking a few steps to the side, as though she didn't have a worry in the world. "Why. I, for instance, never dreamed what I'd come across would be so _valuable_."

She smiled, a wide, eerie smile, revealing pointed fangs. "A son of Sparda. Imagine that kind of luck." When Vergil opened his mouth to demand just how the hell she'd known that, she blinked out of his vision a moment, before reappearing right in front of him, one hand closing on the one he'd had on Yamato with amazing (and, admittedly, surprising) strength, the other going to press a finger to his lips.

"Oh, shush. Everyone knows who you, and that charming little ragamuffin brother of yours, are. We've been watching you two _very closely_, Vergil." When his eyes narrowed, her grin widened, and she let him go, before waving a hand flippantly, and Vergil found himself slamming into the post of the far off wall, his head cracking against it hard enough to make him see stars. As he slid down it, unable to shake it off right away, she clucked her tongue again and examined her nails, before giving him a coy glance.

"You two are so adorable and naive." She moved around the table, swinging her arms behind her as she did so, and it was then Vergil realized her feet were bare, on the stone floor, and the edges of her long, while dress was smudged with dirt. That was interesting. "Look at you. So trusting that you wouldn't find any obstacles here. Dragging that brother of yours...What was his name? Dante. All over, here and there, letting him think it's just a joy ride. But we know better, don't we, Vergil?"

She knelt there, one long fingered hand curving around his throat and forcing his head back, enough to make it smack against the wall once more to keep him docile. And it worked, for the most part, as he gave a silent seethe, feeling the tell-tale burning of bone fractures. "You know, maybe after I'm done here, I should go pay him a little visit, hmm?" She smiled, seeing his eyes narrow in warning. "Oh, don't be so jealous, sweetheart. We know he's your weak spot, but look on the bright side! When I'm done with you both, you can be together forever. In hell, of course, because it's not like you've earned your wings, sugar."

"Besides." Her nails dug in, as she moved to keep him pinned by straddling his lap and using her knees to brace into his elbows. "I think he might be a bit more receptive to my needs and wants, anyway." She leaned down, so that her lips brushed his ear when she spoke next, her hair falling in his face and obscuring his vision. "Like I said, Vergil, we've been watching you _very_ closely."

He just had to find leverage. Some way to pry her off. There wasn't a doubt in his mind as to what she was; not then, at that point. Fucking _bottomfeeder_, and threatening Dante? Oh no. That would not fly. He braced his palms against the floor and readied himself, ignoring the healing happening, albeit slower than normal, in his skull, and the sting of her nails in his throat, to pry her off, and then she'd find herself without a head, yes she would, and he and Dante were, to be frank, getting the hell out of there.

Dante heard the thump, far below, and he paused where he'd been moving around the nursery, being careful not to touch anything just in the off chance there was a vengeful spirit hanging around, and his eyes narrowed slightly, in confusion. What the hell was Vergil _doing_ down there? He glanced around, before giving a sigh and started for the stairs once more, figuring if he _didn't_ go check, Vergil would have never forgiven him, and really. Keeping himself from having to hear Vergil bitch was more important than hearing him bitch because he went to see what was up.

Which was some seriously screwed up logic.

But he tromped down the stairs carelessly, searching out the source of the noise, his nose in the air to catch Vergil's scent. It was sad, really, but he imagined he looked like a fucking dog or something, doing that. Then again, it wasn't like there was anyone there to see him, so he didn't worry about it, really.

It didn't take him long, at least, to find the stairs to the basement, and while he was leery (it was fucking _dark_), he figured he didn't have much choice, and bucked it up, starting down into the basement. Vergil fucking owed him for that shit. He did! He owed Dante so fucking hard it wasn't even funny, especially for the Dante-rape comments. And when Dante found him, he was going to pants the fucker, just to make himself feel better. And run like hell, of course, but that was par for the course when dealing with Vergil.

Of course, when he'd come through the room into the light of the solitary candle, he blinked a moment, reaching up to shield his eyes (it was _dark_ and the light _hurt_), giving a, "Vergil?" he knew something wasn't _right_ with the situation. And when his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw why, and at first, he didn't know what to say.

There was Vergil, being straddled by a chick way too hot to _ever_ be interested in his big brother, in one of those liplocks that was just _guaranteed_ to be messy and full of spit. And all Dante could do, for several long moments, was gape, because never in a million years had he _ever_ expected to walk in on something like that, where Vergil was concerned. Vergil had even given up ireading/i, by the looks of things, and once Dante had shaken off a bit of the shock, he broke into a wide, fangy grin, giving a snicker.

"Well. Uh. I see what you meant about being too busy, huh, bro."

At the sound of Dante's voice, Vergil had started squirming, trying to free an arm. The she-beast had him tight, both hands having come up to hold his face still, the nails digging into where jaw met ear to make sure he couldn't pull away. What Dante didn't understand was the fact that she was a _succubus_, and Vergil, honestly, could feel her draining the life out of him just by that. He shuddered to think how it would go, if she got any more pawsy.

It was painful, but an arm was extracted from underneath her knee, and he slapped it against the floor, with a muffled, "Mmph!"

At that 'mmph', Dante laughed outright, waving a hand. "No, no, that's okay. I'm totally leaving. I'm _sorry_." He started backing out of the room, holding up his hands in a passive gesture. "Really. Just remember, though, bro. Foreplay is _key_. Get over that germ phobia and have a little fun, yeah?" It never registered that all was not what it seemed. "I totally wouldn't have figured you for the submissive type. Go figure."

And with that, he turned on his heel and started for the stairs.

_Stupid little..._Vergil slapped at the floor again, trying to get Dante's attention. She was draining him, and he couldn't push her off, though, as he freed his other arm, he damn sure gave it a try. Didn't that idiot isee/i what was going on? Didn't he? Of course not. Of course not, and he was going to skip off and leave Vergil to die, thinking his big brother was just in the process of getting laid.

When Vergil extracted himself from his current situation, he was going to beat Dante retarded.

Well. More retarded.

And Dante started clunking up the steps once more, still laughing under his breath about the whole thing. Vergil? Getting laid? Was funny. It was. Because God only knew the bastard needed it. Maybe, after, he would relax a bit, and stop being suck a fucking prick. Dante hoped so, anyway. It would make _his_ life a hell of a lot easier, and that was all Dante really cared about.

Well, until he reached the top of the stairs, and things clicked in his head. The scent, the feel, and the feeling that everything had just turned over on its head jangled together to form the truth of the matter, and then he was moving, almost tripping over his own feet to get back down there, forgoing the novelty of taking the stairs one by one and making a flying leap off of them, hitting the ground below with a heavy thump of his boots.

And he said not a word, a rarity for him, as he yanked Ebony from where it had been shoved in the back of his jeans, not hesitating as he aimed and fired, the bullet ripping through the chick's temple and exploding out the other side. It was a waste: She was hot. But she was sucking his brother dry, and not in the good way, and that was uncool.

That gave Vergil the leverage he needed to shove her off, and once she'd been pushed to the side, he scooted back across the floor using the heels of his boots, before yanking Yamato out, like he should have done the first time he'd seen her, and climbing wobbily to his feet. Oh, it was over. It was so very over, and he was going to take her head and-

His thoughts ended as Yamato was yanked from his grasp by Dante. And he watched, somewhat dumbstruck, as Dante closed in, just as the she-beast climbed to her feet, giving a hiss at the younger twin and bearing her fangs. Yamato, of course (in Vergil's opinion) would have been happier in his own hands, because Dante was pitiful, as he heard the muttered comment of the 'fucking thing' being 'too fucking light'. Of course it was, as Vergil wasn't so insecure about his own personal anatomy as to have to carry around that oversized, glorified stick his brother called a sword.

But it was over in an instant, probably because it was so light, and Dante, being Dante and therefore retarded, had probably put all his weight behind the swing that separated her head from her neck, and actually sent it flying halfway across the room before the neck even began spurting blood.

And Dante stood there a minute, eying his handiwork silently, before tossing Yamato over his shoulder for Vergil to catch. "And this is why we don't mess around with demons, dumbass."

Vergil said nothing, as he reached out and caught Yamato, feeling his arm protest at the motion at the elbow, where she'd been leaning her weight, before pulling the blade through his fingers. Dante was a fool. He only reaffirmed that with every breath he took.

Yamato was sheathed, and Vergil still said nothing, moving on slightly wobbly knees behind Dante and pulling him around to face him by his shoulder, before leaning back, and with all his strength, swung. It was, in truth, a more and more rare show of temper, but that was fine. It would teach Dante a lesson. And when it connected, he felt something snap underneath his knuckles, and Dante go slightly limp, where Vergil's other hand had grabbed him by the front of his shirt, to hold him in place.

Dante stumbled with it, already moving to thank Vergil for the lovetap (broken jaw) with one of his own, when Vergil's boot met his chest and sent him back into the wall, hard enough to knock him breathless.

"You." It was the first word Vergil had spoken since being attacked, and it didn't come out as firm as he'd wished, but it was fine. "If you ever. Do something that stupid again. You'll regret it. Are we _clear_, Dante." It wasn't a question, and he knew Dante knew it, as his younger brother reached up to cradle his jaw, a dribble of blood starting at the corner of his mouth. "Get up. We're leaving. I've found what I was looking for."

Dante was pouting, and it was obvious. That was rather sad, too. "iNow/i, Dante." If he had to, he'd drag the boy out by his hair.

...If he was steady enough. That small, one-sided scuffle had taken more out of him than he'd realized, after being drained so by the she-beast.

He was lucky, in the fact that Dante moved to comply, though it was with all the insolence of a scolded child. Satisfied in that, he moved to collect the book from the table and take the candle, feeling his legs quake slightly beneath him. He would simply have to tough it out. Vergil was a big boy. He could take his knocks without being a brat, unlike unnamed others in the room.

Dante, if he'd been able to _talk_ (fucking broken jaw), would have expressed his opinion that he really hoped Vergil wasn't planning on burning the place down, the fucking pyro. But he didn't understand. While Vergil snapping like that was something Dante could understand, because it was so _Vergil_, the timing was fucked. A lot of things about it were fucked. Either he'd really been overreacting, or he'd let Dante off easy. He couldn't decide, and he didn't understand.

So he pushed it away, and shuffled along behind, still cradling his jaw so his steps wouldn't jar it. In an hour, it would be like nothing had happened, but at that particular moment, it was starting to throb, as the adrenaline drained from his system dramatically fast. It hurt, and he felt _tired_, and there was so much shit just _wrong_ with the whole thing, that even the sight of Vergil's ramrod stiff back wasn't comforting. Even _that_ felt off.

He hissed to himself, before starting up the stairs, being careful not to trip, because God forbid he give Vergil more fodder.

Once they'd reached the main doors, Vergil blew out the candle and set it on the foyer table, before motioning for Dante to go ahead. When Dante hesitated, his temper flared again, and he reached over, grabbing Dante by the hair and cracking his head against the frame. "Go, you fool. I'll be along shortly."

Dante stumbled a bit, biting his tongue hard enough to make it bleed, before finding his way to the steps, cursing and railing at Vergil in his mind, because he knew damn well it would hurt too much, and wouldn't be worth the effort, to do so aloud. And his vision had blurred, which made making it down the steps twice as hard, and he prayed and prayed he didn't fall flat on his face.

Vergil watched him stumble along a moment, in the vague direction of the car, before turning and disappearing into the gloom of the house once more, for a few last minute details. Dante was a big boy. He'd suck it up and quit pouting eventually.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Five chapters still to upload.


	11. You Ain't The Reason

"Hey, Verg."

Vergil mentally sighed at those two, simple words, dropped so casually from his little brother as to be deceptive. Nothing that ever started that way ever, ever ended well. Ever. And he didn't bother to glance to the side, where he felt and heard more than saw Dante roll over onto his side, along with what was, at first, a gentle, cautious jabbing at his cheek, before Dante's touch grew more brazen when Vergil didn't respond immediately.

That was the first disaster of the night, marked on Vergil's mental scoreboard, when he bit down, hard, on Dante's finger, drawing blood. And Dante wibbled about it, and gave Vergil false hope in the sense that, in the idiot's flailing show of pain and babydom, he would have forgotten whatever asinine thing he'd been about to spew forth like so much verbal vomit. That was Dante, when Vergil truly thought about it: Dante was not manorexic. No. He was verbally-bulemic, and Vergil had to deal with the clean up, which was disgusting any way he looked at it; metaphorically or literally.

But there he lay, the disgusting, coppery taste of Dante's blood in his mouth, because he _refused_ to give into the urge to go and scrub and scrub and gargle it out, and give Dante that ammunition for some lame, flaccid comeback, while Dante silently wibbled beside him, nursing his 'abused' finger. Well, if Dante hadn't shoved that finger repeatedly into Vergil's face, like a three year old begging for attention, he wouldn't have gotten bitten in the first place.

But Dante was retarded.

And Vergil refused to swallow the blood, as well, and it stayed there, caught under his tongue so he wouldn't make the mistake of doing so accidently, strangely sour and metallic. It was a taste...Well, he wouldn't say he knew it _well_, as one's own blood never tasted quite the same as someone else's, but it was a taste he knew, at any rate. But it was Dante's blood, which made it utterly filthy, and while he wouldn't spit it out because of pride, he wouldn't swallow because of health reasons (as though they could honestly get sick, anyway, but that wasn't the point).

And all was silent for several moments, and Vergil had actually closed his eyes, very much intending on going to sleep, when there was the tell-tale creak of the mattress and shuffle of bed clothes as Dante rolled over once more, scooting far too close for comfort, in Vergil's opinion. They were almost _touching_, and Vergil's brow drew down into a silent frown, though he didn't open his eyes. He was ready, for whatever the fool had to offer. He was.

Except for what Dante did. There he'd been, reflexes at the ready for any gropey monkey hands, when Dante leaned in, closely, and blew in Vergil's ear none too gently. The jerk forced Vergil to reflexively swallow, and to his horror, down went the blood. Down went the blood he'd so carefully held in his mouth to keep from doing so, and the fool had managed to get him to do it _anyway_. And it was disgusting. It was filthy. It was _disturbing_. And had he less decorum and dignity than what he did, he'd have gone running for the bathroom jamming a finger down his throat.

But Vergil was a man, dammit, and he'd take it like a man, as well.

Which was why, with no prelude, he reached over and slapped Dante, hard, across the forehead. "Idiot." Another slap was given, as Dante flailed to keep Vergil away, and failing miserably. "No touch. Bad Dante." One last slap, and hard tug and tweak on the idiot's oversized nose (ironically the same as Vergil's own, but he didn't think about that), and Vergil was willing to let it go, rolling over to put his back to Dante.

And once again, all was silent; it stretched longer than the first time, while Vergil lay there, scraping at his tongue with his teeth to rid his mouth of the Dante-blood taste, and all stayed still. There wasn't even the slightest sound of sniffle-wibbles coming from Dante's side of the bed, which was about as big of a miracle as Vergil could have hoped for.

Until.

"Hey, Verg."

And that did it. It absolutely did it, and Vergil moved quickly, rolling to his other side and right on top of the squirmy, flailing, shaggy mess he was forced to call brother, one hand slapping over the fool's mouth as he did so. Because he knew, yes he did, that Dante would start screaming rape the minute he realized what Vergil was doing.

As if. Vergil certainly had better methods of getting what he wanted if ithat/i had been what he'd been looking for from his little brother. Dante was a sad, deluded child, and if Vergil didn't know any better, with Dante bringing it up all the time, one would think Dante _wanted_ Vergil to have his way with him. Food for thought, at any rate.

"Dante." It was said as he met Dante's wide-eyed gaze, over where his hand had clasped over the idiot's oversized nose and mouth, his own narrowing sharply in irritation. "I suggest, little brother, that whatever it happens to be wait until morning. Or I am going to split you open like a medical cadaver and hang you from the ceiling fan by your intestines." The other hand patted patronizingly at Dante's cheek, and he felt Dante's teeth scrape in a futile effort to bite him against his palm. "Are we _clear_, Dante."

It wasn't a question. It was a demand, and Dante would be no smarter than to realize that.

But Dante was a fool, and it showed as his own eyes narrowed, before both gropey, monkey-like hands made their way up and latched right on to Vergil's hair, tugging hard. It hurt, yes it did, and Vergil didn't deny that; he didn't give in to it, either, as the hand on Dante's face clamped down tighter, the other twining in the front of Dante's own hair, to lift him up by it. He should have known, honestly, that that would only make his retarded little brother cling like the monkey he was, but that was fine, too, as he leaned back as far as he could in Dante's grip and then headbutted Dante, right in his big ass head. Hard.

Enough to make them both see stars, if he wanted to be absolutely honest about the situation, and it dazed him enough that he slid right off of Dante as Dante let him go, holding his forehead and starting that whining he did. Which was _just lovely_, really. Because that meant Dante would act as though the world had done him wrong, when in fact it was _Dante_'s fault to begin with.

And thus it began. "What the fuck did you do that for?" Vergil, through the bleary film over his vision, didn't need to be able to see clearly to know exactly what sort of look Dante wore. It was the one where he looked like an insolent raggamuffin of a child, pouting, scowling, and wibbling, all at the same time, just like the big three year old he acted like.

"Just shut up." It was said as Vergil slapped blindly in Dante's direction, crawling back to his own spot on the bed. "Just...Shut. Up. Not another fucking word. Or I swear on everything sacred and pure in this world, I will gag you and throw you in the closet." And he would, so help him God. He would, and hog tie him for good measure, to keep him from making noise. And then he would sleep, having the iwhole bed/i to himself for once, with no shaggy, mangy little brother to spoil it.

"Fuck you sideways." It was said with a huff, as Dante rolled over, still rubbing at his head, putting his front to the wall and his back to Vergil, which suited Vergil _just fine_, the little idiot. If he thought he was doing Vergil a disservice that way, he was far from mistaken, because the last thing Vergil wanted to be greeted by when he awoke was Dante's idiot face, while he drooled everywhere.

Vergil had had to come to to that sight enough times to know that was exactly how it would be, too.

"Shut it." It was said as Vergil huffed himself, trying to get situated with his own back to Dante's, inched close to the edge of the bed to keep from touching the idiot. In truth, it wasn't a small bed, but they weren't small themselves, so it was truly harder than it seemed, even if Dante was still a manorexic. "I mean it. One more goddamned word, Dante. One more, and-"

"You know, maybe if you'd shut your fat trap, that'd be the end of it, you fucking ignoramus." It was said as Dante fluffed his pillow angrily, 'accidently' kicking Vergil in the back of a thigh as he did so. It earned a snarl that Dante ignored, as he burrowed his way into the bed covers, making sure to pull them completely over his head in an immature show of not listening to Vergil.

That was _fine_. As long as Dante stayed _silent_, Vergil could deal with the immaturity. It meant he didn't have to listen to Dante whine, after all. After fluffing at his own pillow, fussing with it to an obsessed degree, he finally got it the way he wanted it, and settled down himself, to _sleep_, because it was an escape from the idiot he was forced to call brother.

It was a few hours later when something pinged on the fringes of his senses, and Vergil cracked an eye, sure enough finding Dante sprawled all over the bed, and halfway on top of Vergil besides. That, in itself, was nothing new. Dante didn't understand the concept of personal space, especially while sleeping. But that wasn't what had roused Vergil from sleep.

There was a scratching, coming from under the bed, and at first, Vergil stayed still, eyes narrowed in the dark as his ears pricked for it, trying to pinpoint it exactly. After a few moments, and satisfied he'd located it, he eased Dante off of him - not out of concern for the idiot, but because he didn't want to wake him, and get his big mouth started - and leaned over the edge of the bed, making sure to stay just above where the frame ended before the gap to the floor.

A few more seconds, and he leaned down further, one hand letting go of the bed to snatch Yamato where it rested against the wall, right there should he have need of it, when he came face to face with the oddest creature he'd ever seen in existance. It was shaped similarly to a rabbit, but the long fangs protruding from its upper lip said otherwise, and it hissed when it saw him, scuttling diagonally to the foot of the bed, underneath where Dante slept.

In all his years, and with everything Vergil had witnessed, he'd never counted on 'under the bed monsters' being real. And for a moment, he wondered if it wasn't simply a dust bunny that had become sentient.

Yamato's blade was exposed, sliding slickly from its sheath, as he glared at the creature, letting his eyes darken. "I believe you picked the wrong room, bottomfeeder." It hissed again, and Vergil pulled the blade free completely, at the same time forgetting his precarious balance on the bed and tumbling head first onto the floor with a flail and a thud.

That unfortunately woke Dante.

"Huh?" It was somewhat panicked, as Dante bolted upright with his own flail, eyes wide and unseeing, before they focused on where Vergil lay in a heap on the carpet, his ass in the air over his head, in what was the most humiliating thing the elder twin could imagine. "Verg?"

Vergil said nothing and went to straighten himself out, as the creature hissed and scuttled along the floor, daring to peek out from under the bed at him, all fangs and red eyes and dripping maw. Yamato was swiped at it, and Vergil missed completely, instead getting the blade stuck marvelously in the mattress of the bed, to the point where he had to brace a foot against it to yank it out, all the while snarling at Dante, "Don't just sit there like the drooling retard you are, _do something_."

Dante fumbled a moment, hands numb from sleep, and reached under his pillow, before withdrawing the darker of his guns, Ebony, and held it up in question. At Vergil's, "I don't care what you do, shoot the goddamn thing," Dante crawled off the edge of the bed and moved around, still in a sleep-haze, before he laid eyes on it, where it snarled and hissed at them both, back arched, eyes glowing slightly in the dark.

"Y'know..." It was slightly slurred, as Dante's mouth was vaguely numb as well, "that looks like the bunny from The Holy Grail."

There was an outright pause in the room, as Vergil stared at Dante incredulously, ignoring the bunny-monster altogether, as Dante's retardedness obviously took precidence. "The what."

"The bunny. You know." The hand not holding Ebony came up, and Dante held up two fingers like bunny ears, making the hand-bunny 'hop'. "The killer rabbit." He affected what Vergil considered to be the worst fake-British accent he'd ever heard in his life, and continued with, "'He's got huge, sharp... er... He can leap about. Look at the bones!' You know. That rabbit. Too bad we don't got the Holy Handgrenade of Antioch."

"The what." Vergil shook himself from the sheer numbness Dante's stupidity had brought on, before yanking at Yamato once more. "Just _shoot_ the damn thing. I don't care what the hell it looks like."

"I dunno, it's kinda cute." Dante bend down and wiggled his fingers at it, and when it snapped, he drew back in a hurry, wide eyed.

"Do you _see_ now, you idiot? It's a demon, not a plaything." Yamato finally came free of the mattress, almost sending Vergil in a backflip, before he weaved to his feet and firmed his grip on the blade, working his wrist around before pointing it at the bunny-monster. "Now, then. I believe, as I was saying, you picked the wrong room to try to terrorize."

Dante himself could have sworn up and down he saw the rabbit-thing try to stifle a snicker at that. "The hell is it."

"It's a demon, you retard. A bottomfeeder, at that. The so called 'under the bed' monster. It feeds on fear."

Dante rolled his eyes, because obviously he needed a demonology lesson right then and there. "We gotta kill it?"

There was another pause, as Vergil gave Dante the most disbelieving look imaginable, eyes wide. "Excuse me?" Dante was...Well, he was in rare form, as far as Vergil was concerned. "Are you not a demon hunter, loathesome profession as it might be?"

"Aren't you one, too, jackass?" Dante shot back.

"Not by choice, I assure you," Vergil retorted, snorting loudly. "In fact, the only reason I agreed was to pull your retarded ass out of the debt you blundered your way into, so do not start with me, little brother. Now is not the time, this is not the place, and I am not in the mo-"

"If you two don't really mind..." The voice was high-pitched and squeaky, as the bunny-monster climbed its way up onto the bed, all the better to be seen. "I'll just head out now. It seems like you're busy, anyway. I, uh, don't want to interrupt."

Ebony was jabbed in the bunny-monster's face. "Shut up." And then Dante was back at Vergil. "What the hell do you mean, pull my ass outta debt. I wasn't _in_ debt in the first place, you fucking retard. And just _who in hell_ gave you keys to castle anyway, huh? I never asked you for a idamn/i thing. You _forced_ it on me."

"Excuse me?" Vergil's look was wide-eyed. Almost blank, really. "Not in debt? Well, it's certainly no mystery _now_ as to how you managed to get there in the first place, I assure you. And I itook/i the keys to the castle because you're obviously not capable of handling them yourself, incompetent fool that you are."

All the while, the bunny-monster had made its way to the other side of the bed and started for the door, being careful to be quiet. The two who'd taken that particular room were obviously...Not what he was looking for, being too stupid to be afraid, and too busy with one another to even notice he was really ithere/i. When he reached the door, he sat back on his haunches, waving a paw. "Don't mind me, I'll just show myself out."

They didn't even glance in his direction. "What? _What?_ Oh, no the fuck you didn't." Dante bared his fangs at Vergil, jabbing Ebony right into his chest. "You know what? _Fine_. Whatever you wanna think, Vergil. Go ahead! See if I care! 'Cause I don't. You wanna think you swooped in and saved me, instead of being an _overbearing prick who tries to run my life_? Fine! If that helps you sleep at night, sugar."

Vergil's eyes narrowed sharply as Ebony jabbed him, giving an internal twitch. "Dante." It was softly said, as he reached up and gripped Dante's hand and squeezing, knowing very well he was going to snap bones with the pressure he applied. "I suggest, dearest brother, you back off. Now. Before it turns ugly." Dante's hand was forced away, though the idiot refused to loosen his grip on the gun. "This is your only warning."

And all the while, the bunny-monster had jumped up, opening the door to the room. "Uh, see you guys around. I guess." When no answer was given, he scuttled right on out, letting the door shut behind him.

"You know what? This shit is so not worth it." With a snort, Dante jerked away, before Ebony was stuffed in the back of pajama pants that were barely holding on for dear life to Dante's hips to begin with. "It's not! Because you? Are a fucking _ass_." He folded his arms over his chest, taking two large steps backward, and gestured at the bed. "Go on, your majesty. By all means, get your fucking beauty rest." And with that, he spun on his heel, moving to find the clothes he'd discarded earlier in the evening.

"I?" It was said as Ebony was placed with a clunk on one of the tables in the room, before Dante, the king of shamelessness (and completely forgetting all the times he'd accused Vergil of trying to rape him), dropped his sleeping attire _right there_, earning a wince and a slap of the forehead from Vergil, before moving to shimmy into his jeans. "I? Am so fucking out of here. So go on! Sleep sweet, Maleficent the fucking _hag_."

As though that made any sense whatsoever.

Once the jeans were tugged up, zipped, and buttoned, and it was safe to look without being blinded by manorexic, pale ass, Vergil rolled his eyes at Dante's temper tantrum, honestly amused. "I know what this is about. Oh, Dante, grow up."

"Uh huh, and what's that, asshole." Dante tugged his shirt on roughly, before shoving Ebony in the back of his jeans and moving to collect Ivory, throwing Vergil a glare. "Go on. You're so smart. What is it?"

"You, my bestest baby brother, are still mad at me for breaking your jaw. Aw, I knew I felt wibble vibes." That earned Vergil another glare, which proved him right and made his lips twitch in a surpressed grin. "Honestly, Dante, let it go. It's over and done, and pouting will get you nowhere."

"Fuck you in the ear." After checking for his wallet and his keys, and making sure both guns were secure, Dante snatched up the keycard to room, throwing Vergil one last glare over his shoulder. "Seriously. Fuck yourself, you self-centered prick."

"Oh, and why would I do that, when I have you?" It was answered with the slam of the door, and Vergil allowed the grin to show, while he was alone. It just went to show he was right, and Dante knew he was right, and that Dante was wibbling like the retarded fool he was. That was all.

The next morning, as they checked out of their room to prepare to hit the road once more, the day clerk at the desk told them in the hushed, false tones of concern that only those scandalized what such a happening could do to their job-standing passed the word along about a man who'd died of a heart attack in the night only three doors down from their own room. The twins, in a moment of complete accord, said nothing, and instead shared a look before handing over the key and grabbing the last of their bags where they'd rested at their feet, and moved on. It didn't mean anything, and neither one could say they cared very much. It happened all the time and Dante, to soothe his own conscience, decided it was a coincidence and nothing more.


	12. Drops, Rain, and Sea

**Author's Note: **The reverse of chapter three, from the dopplegangers' point of view.

* * *

It had been years since they'd ventured below the Mason-Dixie line, after that one roadtrip Vergil had dragged Dante on. And it had been with good reason, too, that they hadn't bothered, as a lot of shit had gone down then, and in the years following, that had just prevented it, and Dante couldn't say he'd been too worried over it, really. True enough, sometimes his mind wandered backward, to that time when he'd been young, dumb, and a righteous little prick about everything, but it wasn't too often.

So it was surprising, when one day Vergil had decided to drag him away again, much like he had those years before, saying nothing but, "Pack your bags, because we're leaving. You have ten minutes." Dante had learned, and though he hated it, to just give in and do it, because it ended up easier in the long run. Vergil had proven he would, indeed, club his brother unconscious and drag him along tied up in the back seat of the car if Dante refused to comply.

Georgia had brought back both good, and bad, memories. Everything, as far as Dante was concerned, was still as clear as day, as to what had happened way back then, and it was somewhat surreal to find himself there again, on that same lonely stretch of beach, in the same type of weather where he'd sworn he'd seem himself and his brother. He didn't know; perhaps he really had. Perhaps he'd had a peek into the future, to what was his present day, and never realized the importance of it. The confirmation that, after everything, he and Vergil had stuck together, as much as they grated on one another.

In truth, Dante just really didn't care that much.

Vergil was in rare form, too. Over the years, they'd both grown more mature, Dante thought, though if given the chance, they reverted right back to the time they'd been nineteen and stupid, bickering like not a day had passed since then, and they hadn't both become true adults (because God only knew they'd both been convinced that was what they were, in those days, even if they'd been proven incredibly wrong).

"Would you hurry up?" It was snapped, as Dante hadn't realized he'd slowed to a complete stop on the beach, staring out at the water though he hadn't seen it at all. He shook himself from his thoughts before glancing Vergil's way, not even beginning to conceal his eyeroll.

"Will you yank that stick outta your ass?" But he shoved his hands into his pockets and moved to follow along, anyway, after tugging his collar up to shield against the wind. And that seemed to satisfy Vergil, who waited until Dante had reached him to begin moving again. "Why the hell are we even here?"

"Reasons." And that was the only answer Vergil had given him, any time he'd brought it up. Dante, admittedly, was slightly worried it was something just like what had had them running around the country the first time (and he'd never forget Vergil and Mothman, he swore), but if that was so, Vergil wouldn't confirm. He wouldn't deny, either, which had started that familiar gnaw of worry at his spine. He hated when Vergil did that shit. He truly did.

That was one that had yet to change: Vergil always, always left Dante in the dark, completely, on everything he should have known from the beginning. Doing his big brother thing, even at their age, Dante supposed.

He thought it was stupid.

"You know." It was rather conversational for Vergil, really. Over the years, they'd lost that penchant to just talk and talk and talk at one another, instead choosing silence to communicate. Fewer wires got crossed that way. So it surprised Dante, to a degree, at the flippant tone. "I have to admit, little brother, I can't say I feel as though anything at all has changed."

"The hell are you babbling about?" Really. Dante wished Vergil would at least _try_ to make sense half the time. Because he didn't! He didn't, and he knew he didn't, and Dante had to wonder if he didn't do it on purpose, just to piss him off.

"The fact that, here we are, years later, my brother, and it's still the same. Ergo, here we are, and you're still wibbling like the big, fat baby you are. Deny it! I dare you to, and make yourself look like an idiot. A retarded one, at that."

Again, Vergil was seriously in rare form.

"Would you just shut up, already? Fucking loony." Dante didn't begin to hide the fact that he thought Vergil was crazy anymore. Of course, he hadn't then, either. "Seriously, you're pissing me off. You won't tell me why we're here, you won't stop acting like a fucking _ass_...Just what the hell are you good for?"

"And this is precisely why I take you nowhere, and we can't have nice things. Because you are both retarded and childish." It was said as Vergil glanced toward the boardwalk, before reaching to take Dante's arm and pull him to a stop.

"I'll fucking show you retarded. Keep it up, and I'm pitching your ass in the water." Yet Dante allowed him to do what he wanted, squinting in the direction Vergil himself had looked.

"Of course you will, boopsie."

But Dante had no retort, because he wasn't listening. Instead, he was focused on the figure in red, perched on a rock, with his knees pulled to his chest in a pair of worn and ripped jeans, staring just as hard back at Dante himself. "I'll be damned." He reached over and tugged on Vergil's sleeve, as a familiar figure in blue approached the one in red from behind, and Dante, really, wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Well, except that it was nice to have some confirmation he hadn't been seeing things that day. "Verg. Look."

"Yes, yes, I _see_ them. So what." Dante didn't glance back, though he could hear that peeved note in Vergil's voice. He didn't really care, if the truth were told. Vergil was always peeved, anyway.

"I told you. I told you then. Check it out. It was us, and you didn't believe me." He watched the two up the beach speak to one another, and he honestly didn't need to hear them, to know what was being said. He remembered well enough on his own.

Vergil was silent a moment, as the younger him tugged the arm of the younger Dante roughly, to get him moving. "I very well can see that, thank you." But it was without the usual bite in the words; oddly solemn, really, enough that Dante glanced back at him, frowning.

"What."

"Oh, I was only musing over what a shaggy mutt you were." A pause, as Vergil gave him a sideglance, mouth twitching slightly. "And still are. Nothing more."

"Ass." There was a long moment of silence, as Dante glanced back, to find the two gone. "I guess we weren't ghosts after all."

There was an odd pause, from Vergil, before he tugged Dante's arm, not nearly as roughly as his younger self had his brother's double. "I suppose that depends on your definition of ghost."

Dante opened his mouth, to ask just what the fuck Vergil had meant by that, but Vergil had already pulled away, starting along the beach once more, and he had no choice but to follow, and consider the topic of conversation dropped. They'd grown older, quieter, and more mature; nothing at all, really, like they had been, but Vergil was still the same. He was still the same in that he left Dante in the dark, never telling him the things he should know.


	13. Dia De Los Muertos

It was dark. It was dark, and it was slightly chilly, which was surprising to Dante, and he found himself immeasurably glad that he'd made Vergil stop in the town they'd left behind a short while before for coffee and other provisions, because he would have been a very unhappy boy, had he been stuck out there in the middle of nowhere, after dark, in some creepy ass old cemetery without them.

And it _was_ old, with grave markers both small and worn, and grandiose and weather-stained. Dante had found himself a broad, sturdy angel, with outstretched arms, near where Vergil had decided to dig up a grave (and like hell Dante would have helped him with that), and had scaled it, before sprawling across its arms like an overgrown housecat, a twizzler hanging out of one corner of his mouth to allow for easy coffee access on the other.

"Hey, Verg." There was a pause in the digging below, and Dante leaned over, bracing himself on one of the angel's granite forearms. "Just what the hell are you doing down there, anyway. If you wanted a body, we coulda got you a fresh one." It ended with a wicked, fanged grin, because he knew Vergil knew what he was thinking about. There had been some asshole, back at that Starbucks in town, that had nearly found himself jumped by the half-demon in red for running off at the mouth and being an all around fucktard.

The guy had been lucky that _Vergil_, of all people, had felt magnanimous enough to hold Dante back. True enough, it was only because the elder twin had had business out in the middle of nowhere, again, but it was a surprising gesture, coming from him.

Vergil shot a sharp glare at Dante, where the younger twin lounged in the angel's arms, a macabre parody of the iPiet/i. "Did I tell you, wibbler?" The grin above didn't fade, and Vergil scowled, slamming the shovel down into the hole he was working in, to stick it there long enough to crawl up the statue and beat the boy senseless, when it gave a hollow thud and vibrated where he'd released the handle. "Well, then. About damn time."

"You're telling me," Dante retorted, cheerfully, around the twizzler he chewed on. "Here I've been sitting like this for God only knows how long, waiting on you to do whatever grave robbing shit it is you're up to, and there you've been. Taking your sweet ass time. You _do_ realize this is a goddamn felony, right? And. And!" Dante balanced himself more precariously against the statue, reaching up to pull the twizzler from his mouth and jab it in Vergil's direction. "We won't even get into the karmic retribution from this shit. Watch us take something home with us. Watch! Don't you got any sense?"

"Would you shut the fuck up?" It was said rather offhandedly, however, as Vergil moved to pry the coffin open. It was stuck, because it was an old grave Vergil had picked as his hapless victim, and after a few moments of tugging and cursing the lid under his breath, it gave a splintering creak, before starting to swing slowly open. "If you're a good boy, and you're patient, we'll find a nice skull for you to take as a souvinier. But only if you _shut the fuck up_."

Dante snorted at that, swinging to sit upright on one of the arms. "Uh huh." Did Dante believe him? No. Vergil was a goddamn liar. Besides, it wasn't like Dante didn't have enough skulls back at the shop, almost a world away from where they were at that moment, it seemed. "Hurry the fuck up. It's cold and I'm tired and _hungry_." The last was whined, as Dante finished his coffee and tossed the empty cup over his shoulder, before starting to swing his legs like a child from his perch. "You won't even tell me what it is you're even doing, and this shit is boring as hell."

Vergil would have been willing to let it go, had Dante actually attempted to _help_ with the digging. He'd have been willing to explain, even, what it was he was doing. After all, necromancy was something Dante would have either been repulsed by, and left, or he could have found it fascinating, and Vergil could have used that. But no. No, the younger twin had chosen to be a whiny brat, and the bitching, honestly, had started to grate on his nerves.

He hadn't even realized he'd done it, as he found a nice, hefty rock, sticking out of the dirt of the grave, before he'd hefted it, aimed, and lobbed it at Dante. And he didn't pull the throw, either.

And Dante never saw it coming.

It hit with a sickening thud, and a cracking of skull, before Dante gave a great flail as he tipped backward, blood starting to stream from a cut near his hairline, before he slipped right over the statue's arm into a flailing, ungraceful fall. And when he hit the ground, it was in a clattering heap of disgruntled devil boy. He was still a moment, before he pushed himself up on his arms, glaring over his shoulder at Vergil, his head throbbing like hell and the blood stinging, where it dripped in his eyes. His brother was a bastard. He was. A _good_ brother wouldn't have done that, but then...It was Vergil, and no one would claim he was good at anything except being an asshole, anyway.

He opened his mouth, to tell Vergil exactly that, when a sound, in the distance near the treeline, killed that thought entirely, and his gaze moved from Vergil to the inky blackness around them, eyes narrowing. "Hey." It was amazingly quiet, given that it was Dante, and he slowly started for his feet without giving Vergil a chance to answer. "You hear that?"

"Hear what." It was snapped, as Dante heard Vergil rustling about in the hole, collecting the bones, no doubt, from the coffin. "I haven't heard a damn thing but your big mouth. _Shut it_."

"Fuck you." He reached up and wiped at the cut, diverting the bloodflow so that he could see properly, before one hand slipped under his shirt to close around Ebony, ears pricked as he attempted to tune Vergil out. "There's something out there." Was Vergil stupid? Could he not feel it?

The sound echoed again, and Dante felt a shiver skitter up his spine, as it echoed. He damn well knew that noise. He'd heard it enough since he'd started on his current line of work to know _exactly_ what it was. "Hey, Verg, man, I think maybe we should get out of here." He glanced back, to find Vergil hauling himself out of the grave with both the bag of bones and the shovel, already dusting himself off like a pissed kitty. "Seriously."

"Oh, Dante." It was said with a roll of the eyes, as the shovel's tip was shoved in the dirt, the bag placed with much more care next to it, as Vergil went about brushing dirt from his arms. "There is _nothing_ out there. Must you always be such a wibbly snotrag? Truly?"

As soon as the last word was out of Vergil's mouth, the sound echoed again, louder, and was answered by three more. Dante glanced over, as if to say 'I told you so', only to receive a blank stare in return. "What the hell was that."

"Don't tell me, brother o' mine, you don't know what a bonefide zombie sounds like." And that was that. Dante damn well knew a zombie when he heard one, and he guaranteed Vergil did, too. After all, which of them had decided to dig up a grave for seemingly no good reason?

"Well, if you're such a scaredy cat that four little zombies will send you running like a baby..."

"Don't be retarded." It was said with a snort, as Ebony came out from under Dante shirt, and he checked it over, before starting to back his way over to Vergil. "Use that big goddamn brain of yours. If there's four, there's a whole lot more of 'em. These fuckers don't move in small groups, you fucking retard."

"Uh huh." As though it was something to be worried about, anyway. Zombies, to their kind, as far as Vergil was concerned, were like harmless puppies. They could bite all they wanted, but the truth of it was, nephilim could not become zombies themselves. Vergil knew that well from experience. Which was why he didn't rush, going about gathering things leisurely, as his skittish younger brother nearly leapt from his skin at every moan and death rattle that sounded. "Get a grip, Dante, honestly."

"Screw yourself." Dante could hear them coming, and there were a hell of a lot more than four. He could ismell/i them, on the wind; that sickeningly sweet scent of decay, along with the sour taint of spoiled blood, and he could feel the bile in the back of his throat. Zombies, while the makings for an _awesome_ movie, sucked in real life. They were gross - so much more disgusting than in the movies - and there was always that chance that one would be someone you knew. And that whole taking them down with a hit to the brain thing? Not fun.  
"Vergil, I'm serious, there's a fuckload of 'em. Let's _get out of here_."

"Oh, stop whining." Vergil had tugged on his jacket, before snatching the shovel where it sat upright in the dirt and swung it to rest over one shoulder, the bag of bones cradled carefully in the other arm. "And here I thought zombies would _excite_ you."

"Hell no." Dante shot him a glare over his shoulder, giving a glimpse of fang. "I fucking hate fighting zombies. Can we _leave_?"

"Absolutely not." It was said as Vergil turned on his heel, ignoring Dante's wide-eyed, disbelieving stare, and he started for one of the raised, flat graves, from a time when a few were buried above ground outside of mausoleums. "Come along, Dante, because I planned to do this here."

"What the fuck." It was said as Dante glanced back into the dark, before skittering after Vergil, clutching Ebony tight enough to leave his knuckles white. "Dude. We got enough zombies without you making more. _Come on_, already. _Please_. You didn't even bring Yamato, dude. We're kind of fucked, standing around playing pocket pool like this."

And Vergil ignored him, as he started removing the bones and placing them on the slab, which to him was waist high. It was perfect, really, for what he was planning to do. "Oh, Dante." His tone said he was amused, and the look he offered echoed it. "Little brother, I believe it's time you learned a little something about the nephilim constitution. You realize we can't become zombies ourselves, yes?"

"So. What. We stand around and let 'em gnaw on us like a bucket of KFC? No dice." It was said with an emphatic shake of Dante's head, as he glanced back at where he heard the fuckers shuffling once more. "Vergil. Brother. Boopsie bear. Please. Let's just get the fuck out of here already. You can do this shit somewhere else. I _know_ you can, and I _know_ you're being stubborn to piss me off, but _please_." And it was an honest, heart-felt plea, as well.

Pity Vergil didn't give a damn.

"Stop whining and stand guard. How I ended up with such a ninny for a brother, I shall never comprehend." He hadn't even glanced up during Dante's 'touching' little monologue. He, honestly, had bigger things at hand than a few dozen zombies he damn well knew his brother could dispose of, if he'd stop acting like a baby.

Dante clenched his teeth in frustration, blowing a loud snort, as well, before looking back. And realizing they were no longer alone, as the dead shuffled toward them. True, at the moment the first seemed to be a few hundred meters away, and they were slow, but it wasn't comforting. "Hey. They're here."

"Lovely." It was almost cheerful, really, the way Vergil said that, as he finally placed the skull, which, Dante noticed, possessed small horns. "Well? Why are you not showing what a big boy you are with those silly, overblown guns of yours? Hop to, wibbler!"

"I hate you." But Dante wasn't stupid, as the took aim on the first, and hesitated a moment, making a quick head count, before pulling the trigger. When the bullet collided with the zombie's head, it caved and blew apart like a melon, and Dante made a face, looking for the next closest zombie. "You owe me for this shit."

Vergil didn't bother answering.

And for the first part of it, it was easy enough to just pick them off; at first it was one by one, and then two by two, but they just wouldn't stop coming. It was like there was a neverending supply of them, and that had Dante worried. How did he, or Vergil, for that matter, know that they weren't really surrounded? True, it wouldn't be hard to cut a path through them, but goddamn. It hadn't been Dante's idea to stand around a plug zombies all night, all so Vergil could make _more_.

He heard Vergil behind him, chanting softly under his breath, which certainly didn't help matters at all, if one were to ask Dante, before hefting Ivory back to shoulder level and clucking his tongue, realizing how close one of the zombies had come. "Whoa, there, granny. This ain't bingo night, and I'm not the jello surprise."

And then he pulled the trigger.

Ivory clicked uselessly, and for a moment, Dante was so dumbfounded by that, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. "Uh." Ebony was raised then, and the trigger pulled, and it clicked just as uselessly. That wasn't supposed to happen. He'd enchanted his guns long before, just because it was smart not to have to reload in the middle of a fight, but they couldn't be _empty_. It wasn't possible. He fumbled and shoved Ebony away, before releasing Ivory's clip, his eyes widening in horror when he realized it was empty.

"Verg." When Vergil didn't answer, he snarled and nearly chucked the useless gun at Vergil's head, before backing up to him in a hurry. "_Verg_." Only then did Vergil break off, scowling at Dante in annoyance, before Ivory and its useless clip were shoved under his nose. "We need to go. Now."

"What." Vergil's apathy to it just made Dante want to clobber the asshole more, but in an amazing display of restraint, he held up the gun in one hand, the clip in the other, and shook them for emphasis.

"Something." Another shake. "Is fucking _wrong_." And another. "With my goddamn guns." The empty clip was shoved home and Ivory put roughly back into its holster, before he reached over and tugged Vergil's arm. "C'mon. I can't fucking do anything if I don't have bullets. Something botched the goddamn charm on 'em."

"You're kidding." Vergil almost looked amused at that. "Oh, Dante, how hard you _fail_."

"You know what?" Dante held up his hands, as though in defeat, taking a few steps backward. "That's fine. That is _goddamn fine_, brother o' mine. If you wanna end up on the zombie buffet? Your deal. Me? I'm going back to the car and getting the fuck out of here." He dropped a hand and pointed with the other, to a spot right over Vergil's shoulder. "You might wanna think about that, though, 'cause, uh. I don't think even we could survive that."

Vergil raised an eyebrow and turned to look, taking no time at all to register just what Dante had meant. There were more of them than either of them could have expected; it seemed that for every one Dante had taken down, three more had replaced it from the inky blackness of the treeline, and they were closing in. How either of them could have missed all the _noise_ they were making, Vergil would never know, and though he inwardly cursed to himself for having to admit it, Dante was right; it was time to leave.

"Well, then." His movements were calm, however, as he went about placing the bones back in the bag; he'd gone through a lot of trouble to get them, and he wasn't going to leave them behind. "I suppose I can do this elsewhere, as I'm not particularly fond of having such an...iEager/i audience."

Dante gave an inward, spiteful grin at that. It meant he was right. "Good!" After all, it wasn't as though Dante had _wanted_ to leave Vergil behind; it was just in that particular situation it was every man for himself. "Now just hurry the fuck up, 'cause we're sitting fucking ducks out here."

"Not so, but have it your way." The bag of bones was hefted over a shoulder, and Vergil started to move past Dante, as casual as could be. "But since you're being such a baby and jabbering on about it, I suppose we might as well protect your delicate sensibilities." And with that, one foot swung outward, catching Dante's shin hard, before Vergil took off for the car. Dante had been right: It _was_ every man for himself.

Dante cursed and almost dropped to a knee, because that shit had _hurt_, before catching his balance and starting after Vergil in a fast hobble, calling him every dirty name in the book, and some that weren't. His brother? Was a bastard. He was! A person just didn't _do_ that in the middle of a zombie infestation. When he caught up to the fucker, he was going to beat his skull in, because that was un-fucking-cool.

The initial pain receeded, and Dante placed more weight on the leg, pushing up into a run to catch up. He was going to _hurt_ Vergil for that. How his brother could be such a flaming dick, Dante would never know - other than the fact that he was _crazy_ - but it was okay. When Dante could make him bleed, it would make everything better.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't catch up to his brother until they'd almost reached the car, and his first effort to pounce from behind was thwarted as Vergil zig zagged away, and he let out a string of words that honestly made no sense, even to himself, before trying again, managing to get a hand twisted into Vergil's hair. The bastard was going _down_, if Dante had any say so in it.

And Vergil spat like a wet cat, the minute he'd felt the tug, before finding his head slamming into the trunk of the car, hard. Little bastard monkey was going to pay for that when Vergil could see straight again, as the world whited out for a few brief seconds around him. And he came up swinging, feeling his palmheel connect to Dante's face, as something crunched loudly underneath, and almost grinned in satisfaction at it. It was what Dante deserved, in his opinion.

"_Bastard_." It was nasally, as the hand released his hair, going instead to cradle Dante's nose, crimson streaming between his fingers. "You fucking _twat_. _This is all your goddamn fault_."

"Get in the car." It was emphasised with a slap to the back of Dante's head, to get him moving. "_Now_. You have five seconds to comply, or I'm leaving you here." Dante looked, for a moment, as though he would ignore that and jump again, before another gush of blood spurted from his nose (Vergil hadn't meant to hit brain tissue), and he shuddered violently, before leaning against the car, slowly making his way to the passenger side.

"I fucking hate you."

"Aw. I love you, too, wibbler. _In the car_." Did Vergil feel bad about the brain damage? Of course not. Dante had deserved it, unintended or not. The driver's side door was opened and the bag of bones placed inside, and then Vergil was moving to climb into the driver's seat, after slamming the back door roughly. Stupid wibbly little brother. Vergil was sure that, somehow, someway, the malfunctioning guns were Dante's own fault. And he would prove it, too.

Dante stumbled to his own door and tugged it open, before flopping right on in, still cradling his face. He could feel the tissue inside repairing itself, but that didn't _help_ anything, considering it hurt like hell. "I hate you." It was still stuffy-sounding, and Vergil's mouth twitched, before he glanced over, beholding his little brother in all his asinine, eye-triggered glory.

"Oh, stop pouting. They certainly can't catch us _now_." It was emphasized with a turn of the key, which Vergil had left in the ignition (Dante was going to beat his ass for that, too.), and the engine gave a whine, before sputtering slightly, and then dying off altogether. "What the fuck."

Dante gave a groan, shifting forward to rest his head against the dashboard. "This can't be happening. _Please_ tell me this isn't happening." After a moment, he pulled himself upward and dropped his hand from his face, before leaning over to peer at the gas gauge. "It don't make sense. Turn it again."

"Get _off_." Dante, in all honestly, had practically leaned over _into Vergil's lap_, and the elder twin was most obviously not comfortable with that situation. "Filthy little monkey." He gave Dante a shove, to get him going, only to be resisted with another eye-triggered glare.

"Either turn the goddamn key again, or I will fucking _skullfuck_ you." And, oh, Dante meant it, too. Instead of waiting on Vergil to stop having a goddamn hissyfit, he pried the elder twin's hand from the key and turned it himself, hearing the same whine and chugging, though no lights on the dash came on. "Oh, this is fucking beautiful." To make matters worse, in Vergil's opinion, he leaned all the way over, across Vergil's lap, and fumbled for the hood release, giving a sigh of relief when he heard it pop above. "Stay in the goddamn car."

Vergil, honestly, had no words.

Dante scooted across the seat once more and opened his door, peering over the hood. The zombies, of course, had not stopped in their approach, but they had time if things went right. He scuttled out and to the front of the car, lifting the hood up all the way and propping it open, before peering inside the best he could. It was so goddamn dark that even to vision like his, it was hard to tell just _what_ the problem was.

After a moment, he found the battery cables and gave them a jiggle, surprised to find them loose. He had checked them at their last stop, so in his mind there was _no way_ that was possible. But that was okay, because he went about tightening them, before leaning around the hood and slapping it to get Vergil's attention. "Try it."

Vergil almost contemplated ignoring Dante, until he peered out of the window to see the zombies coming over the hill they'd just raced down, and turned the key. The engine came to life then, and Dante himself gave a sigh of relief before slamming the hood shut once more and darting around to the open car door, already hearing Vergil shift out of park.

"You bastard." It was said as he slammed the door and leaned over to look out of the driver side window, to see how close they'd cut it. "You were gonna leave me."

"Too slow." Out of park, right past first, and Vergil hit the gas, going back into this 'bat out of hell' driving mindset, and flinging Dante back against his own door. "This is all your fault."

"What." Dante straightened himself, his expression wide-eyed and disbelieving. "_My_ fault? How the hell is this my fault? _You_ were the one with the brilliant idea to come out here."

"It's your fault because I said it was." A hand slapped against Dante's chest as the younger twin moved into a lunge, forcing him back into his seat. "Stop being such a baby. We're gone now, aren't we?"

"Yeah? And?" Dante couldn't understand why Vergil wasn't seeing the problem with the entire situation. "For what? The battery cables were loose. That _shouldn't have happened_. My guns fucked up. Guess what? That's right, _shouldn't have happened_. Something is _wrong_ here, you fucktard."

He took a deep breath, deciding to get right to the heart of the matter. No time like the present, and all that shit. "I think it's about time you came clean about this shit. I know. I know something's up. Now," he held up a hand, stalling Vergil's obvious snide remark, "I know you like to think I'm stupid, but I _can_ put two and two together. Everything's been happening...You know what's going on, don't you? You do, and you're a fucking liar, and I damn well think I have a right to know, too."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Vergil's tone signalled that was the end, but he knew that stubborn look that had plastered itself all over Dante's bloody face. "Here." He reached around to the slit pouch in the back of Dante's seat, where he'd shoved a packet of sanitary wipes. Vergil never came unprepared. "You're filthy." They were shoved at Dante, before he went back to giving the road his full attention, pointedly ignoring everything Dante had said.

Dante opened his mouth to retaliate, before giving a sigh and letting it go. He wasn't going to get anywhere with the headbutt-the-wall approach, and he _knew_ that, but he also knew he was _right_. And the way Vergil had clammed up told him he was right, too. He'd just have to find a better way to get him to spill. That was all. "Yeah. Sure."


	14. In The House In A Heartbeat

They'd gotten separated in the woods, trying to find whatever out of the way, Godforsaken place it was Vergil had been looking for. Dante, still, was convinced it was more than his brother collecting debts owed and a few books here and there for whatever it was he researched, but he still had yet to get an answer.

It was funny, how he hadn't at least caught wind of Vergil after that. He couldn't, really. The ability to _feel_ him had...Shut off, so it seemed, and he figured it was because, as Vergil would say, Dante himself was underdeveloped. And he very well understood it wasn't typical for Vergil to track him down or anything, because he had already said he refused to babysit Dante on their little 'outing' in the middle of nowhere, anyway.

Dante knew he'd meant it, too. Which was a drag, but there wasn't much else he could do about it.

He'd wandered for a while, hoping against hope Vergil wouldn't just take his car and _leave_, because he didn't put it past him at all. Vergil was a bastard like that, and _would_ leave Dante stranded. All the while, he tromped through the underbrush and leaves scattered across the ground, making more noise than usual in the hopes that Vergil would hear him and tell him to shut up.

He couldn't have honestly said he was surprised when it didn't happen.

And he'd had no clue how long he'd been wandering, when he came upon an abandoned house, right there in the middle of nowhere. He found that odd, really, with their being no road that he could see, even an overgrown one, and no other definitive markings of civilization, but he approached, anyway, figuring the best plan would be to stay somewhere stationary, on the off (unlikely) chance his brother had a change of heart and went looking for him, from where he'd gone missing. He wasn't going to hold his breath there, but he wasn't going to totally brush aside the idea, either.

The front porch creaked as he made his way up the steps and onto its uneven boards, the paint - what once would have been a deep blue - faded and chipping from them. A screen door was amazingly still attached to its hinges, if only just barely, swaying in the breeze, the door of the house itself wide open, like some sort of gaping maw of an unnamed monster. But then, Dante was used to places that looked like that, and in a way, he always found them rather sad. It reminded him, honestly, too much of his own past; of the house he'd have grown up in, and how it - or, rather, what was left of it - must have looked at that point in time, even though he'd never been back there, and he never planned to go, either.

But the house was abandoned, there, and he didn't hesitate at all, as he made his way to the doorway and leaned in, peering into the shadowed gloom of the house. Something about it panged, and he couldn't explain it, as he'd been born, and had lived, a long way away from the place he currently stood, but it started a gnawing at the pit of his stomach, before he shook it off, rolling his eyes at himself. "Get a grip, loser."

It was quietly said, however, as he made his way into the house itself, noting the obvious disturbance all around; furniture overturned, broken glass from the windows, torn and yellowed bits of paper here and there on the old, wooden floor...It was obvious, at least to himself (and he usually guessed things right, on that account), that _something_ had happened there. And there was a faint, almost untraceable scent on the air, that he knew well enough through his job. Which was funny. He couldn't track his own twin brother for shit, to find his way back to him, but he could pick up the scent of demons from years and years ago. There was an irony in that he himself just couldn't appreciate to its fullest.

It had been a while, though. He'd caught their scent, but with his limited capabilities in the matter, there was no way to tell ihow/i long it had been. Vergil, on the other hand...It was one of those odd moments, where he actually _wished_ his brother was around, to give him confirmation on the matter, even if it would have come as a snide undercut to Dante's less than stunning grip on things of that nature.

His boots crunched on the broken glass and the floorboards creaked beneath him as he moved deeper into the house, daring to venture beyond the main, wide room. It all echoed something, and he couldn't quite put his finger on _what_, but it gnawed and chewed and jangled at his nerves, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention with a repressed shudder. It was like a sense of deja vu, though why he couldn't say, even though he was damn sure he'd never seen the house, nor been to that particular part of the country before.

He paused in his progress when he stumbled across, of all things, a teddy bear, tossed against the wall as though its owner had had a temper tantrum before storming off to sulk, and for a moment, he bent to touch it; perhaps pick it up and set it to rights, when he caught himself. He knew better than to disturb things in houses that had seen ill ends. It didn't mean he always followed that rule, no, but he knew most of the time to leave well enough alone, because he had enough supernatural baggage without willing inviting more. So he drew back, away from it, still trying to piece together why it seemed so familiar, before straightening to his feet once more.

The hurried, panicked patter of feet startled him from his trance, and he stiffened, before reaching for his guns and purposely taking slow, measured steps, so as not to give away his presence, closing in on where the noise had originated. The house was abandoned. There shouldn't have ibeen/i anyone there, unless it was a few kids who'd come to do whatever it was kids did when they got away from their parents and into something they shouldn't have, and had spotted him while he'd been off in lala land like an idiot.

He could hear the tiny Vergil-voice in the back of his mind chastising him for being stupid, and he inwardly told it, in no uncertain terms, to shut the fuck up and let him work. It sucked that his conscience had the voice of his brother. It really did.

However, from the back of the house came a voice, and it might as well have been a punch to the lungs with the way it stopped his breathing.

"Dante? I want you to go and hide. Don't come out, no matter what you see or hear. _Go_." He didn't need to see it, to know the owner of the voice, or what was happening. It replayed in his mind; his mother ushering him to hide, him demanding to know where his brother was, and finding himself shoved in a cranny until it was over, hours later, coming across both their limp, ripped open forms.

He'd frozen, and when he saw _her_ rush from the crooked hallway, it twisted inside, somewhere he hadn't thought about in years, and it was hot and painful - but it made him breathe. The first time he tried to speak, his mouth moved, but no sound came out. The second time fared a little better, as she moved to rush past him, and he wanted to imove/i but it was like his feet were nailed to the floor.

"Mom?"

She turned then, and their eyes met, her own widening through the fear he could see, just under the will to live, as though he were the ghost. He couldn't honestly say she'd be wrong in that assumption. But she slowed, still staring, as though she couldn't believe what she saw, and all the painful details came into focus; the mud staining her feet and the edge of her nightgown, and her hands were bleeding, though he didn't know why. And the hair he'd loved to stick his hands in as a child hung loose and tangled, as though she'd ran for a long, long time. He'd never known the truth of what had happened before, but he hoped that wasn't the case.

The knot in his throat was painful, but he swallowed it down and forced himself to move, to at least _try_ to get to her, as futile as he knew it would be. "Mom?" There was a note of hysteria there, as he moved to grab her. He could protect her that time, right? He was strong enough, even though he'd heard stories about how she'd been before he and his brother had been born, and how she'd caught their father's attention. But he could do it, because he wasn't human like she was.

It was then the thing in the shadows leaped, and her attention diverted from Dante to it. It was only then he noticed she was armed, with a short, light sword he could vaguely remember hanging in their father's study. But the fact of it was, even he could see it was too late, and he moved to put himself in between, because better he take the blow than she, before something caught the back of his jacket's holster and tugged him. The vision before him drastically altered, and he found himself staring at a wall with peeling blue paint, not at all like he'd been seeing, and the feel of the room itself had changed.

"What the hell are you doing." He turned on the owner of the voice, eyes wide, mouth moving but no words coming out, and he saw Vergil's eyes narrow before the elder twin gave a snort. "I told you I wasn't going to babysit you."

Dante tried - honestly tried - to say something, but it wouldn't come, and he felt his muscles start to loosen, from where they'd locked in readiness to leap and take the blow. He, honestly, almost dropped then and there, but his knees unlocked, and he reached out silently to steady himself against Vergil's shoulder, as he heard him chuckle under his breath.

"Aw, did Dante see a ghost?"

When Dante looked up, it was with a full eye trigger, mouth twisted into a furious frown, and he had to restrain himself from knocking the shit out his brother. Was that it? Was that why Vergil hated him so much? Because Dante had been the cause of everything, by unknowingly distracting their mother? What if that had been it? What if...The same thing that had happened on that beach in Georgia had happened then, with his then-older self diverting their mother's attention and being the cause of her dying, and what had happened to Vergil?

He didn't know, but his stomach heaved, and he had to bite down on his tongue to hold down the bile. He pushed away from Vergil and weaved in the direction of the door, ignoring the taunting, "One would think as a 'demon hunter' you'd be better prepared for haunted houses, Dante," thrown in his direction.

He'd always figured it had been his fault somehow. He just hadn't expected it to be confirmed like that; so brutally and plainly, and he supposed he should have been grateful that Vergil had interrupted it before it had gone any farther. But it didn't stop that nauseating feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach, because it, in his mind, had been _confirmed_. He'd killed her. He'd nearly killed Vergil. And it all made sense, if he looked at it that way. Vergil hated him because it was his fault, and really, he couldn't blame him.

He paused with a hand against the door frame, taking a steadying breath before looking back where Vergil stood in the middle of the dilapidated, destroyed room, arms folded and mouth twitching in amusement. "Let's get out of here, yeah? Place gives me the creeps." His voice was remarkably level, he thought, given the circumstances.

"Apparently." Vergil was eating his discomfort up, but Dante couldn't work up the ire to bitch about it. He waved the hand apathetically that had been against the frame, before moving on once more. He didn't have a clue how he was supposed to make up for it now, so the way he saw it; what he was doing would just have to be good enough, until he could figure out how redemption for something that huge was supposed to go.


	15. Don't Fear The Reaper

The shock of seeing his mother's shade faded quickly.

It wasn't because he was a heartless bastard, but because he had no chance to truly reflect on it with the things that followed. As if he didn't consider Vergil crazy and shifty enough, his brother, in Dante's opinion, began acting even more suspiciously, disappearing for longer and longer periods of time. It was during those times that Dante began digging for the book and the box he'd first found in Alabama once more, ready to give decoding it a second try. He figured, with the way Vergil had been acting - checking them into a hotel room for a few days at a time and then leaving for most of those days without a word - the best way to find out what _exactly_ was going on would be that book. It wasn't like Vergil would tell him flat out, and he knew he wasn't stealthy enough to follow him to those mysterious places he left for.

And the fact that he always came back, reeking of black magic and demons, didn't help settle his nerves at all.

It was on one of these crusades that he came across a deck of tarot cards, and he snorted to himself as he dropped them on the small hotel room table anyway. He wasn't the most adept reader, and it was mostly for shits and giggles that he did it, but he figured it would kill time until Vergil returned, and keep his mind off of things it had no business obsessing over. He knew dwelling on what he'd seen in that abandoned house would do nothing but shake his mental state, and with Vergil being a weird fuck, and obviously messing around in things he didn't need to, he couldn't afford that.

The deck was shuffled, and the cards made a fluttering noise over the sounds of daytime talk show tv in the background, before he placed them gingerly on the table and cracked his knuckles. He took a swallow from the beer bottle he'd also placed on the table, well aware it was before noon; he just didn't care. Vergil wasn't there to bitch about the early hour, and the likelyhood of him coming back relatively soon was low. Dante figured it would be a day or two before he saw hide or hair of his batshit twin, and he wasn't really worried. What Vergil didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

And that was a damn shame.

He only knew a seven card layout, and even then, he sometimes had to look up the card's meaning before he could even take a stab at reading it, but it was just for fun. He read his (and Vergil's) horoscope the same way; it was with a detached amusement at how silly some people could be with wanting the answers the easy way, and how gullible they could be with that kind of thing. Most of the time it was so vague that it could apply to _anyone_. And he truly, honestly hoped his brother had the deck for the same reasons, or Dante would be so ashamed. He'd never stop laughing at Vergil, either.

The first card was drawn and flipped over, and he snorted at the image of the Empress before placing it in position on the table, already rolling his eyes. When he drew something like that on the first go around, there was no way in hell he could ever stay serious about it. He wondered how people who truly believed managed it.

The next card he pulled from the deck was Temperance, and while it struck him as slightly odd, it also had him snickering. A balance between two sides? How the hell that played into the Empress he'd never know. And besides, he figured, the tarot was once used as an actual card game, not to tell the future or anything like that, so in the end, he figured, he was doing little more than playing a round of solitare.

Pity he'd never been good at solitare, either.

He paused there, taking another drink from the bottle and glanced at the television, surprised to see it was late enough in the day for the Montell Williams Show. He wasn't big on tv in general, and rarely actually sat down to watch it with no other distractions, but he made a point to catch that particular show whenever he could. It was easier to do so, at that moment, with Vergil stopping for more than a day or two at the time, though it left Dante without much else. But there was a method to the madness of his sporatic television watching: He liked mocking Sylvia Browne whenever she came on. He did. She was a complete and total fucking idiot, with her 'call on Lilith' this, and 'he's just a guardian spirit' that. He'd heard she was once good at what she did, but now? She was spewing the shit he absolutely _loved_ to make fun of. Vergil did, too, truth be told, and he would plop his fat ass on the nearest available seat (he could hear Vergil bitching in his head about being associated with doing something so ungraceful as 'plopping') and snark his crazy little head off at her ass.

Sure enough, she was on that particular episode, and he went to make his third pull from the deck, rolling his eyes. To any outside observer, he knew, it would look like he believed that shit - hook, line, and sinker - but how wrong they would be. He was a demon hunter, and not the kind who bought into the pop paranormal bullshit that seemed to be everywhere. He'd seen too much of the real thing - _was_ the real thing - to take it seriously. But a man had to have something to mock; when it wasn't Vergil, he amused himself with bogus portants of the future and pop parapsychology. He wanted to meet Sylvia Browne, just once. Better yet, he wanted her to meet _Vergil_, and let her see what she thought of Hell then.

And he swore up and down that Sylvia Browne sounded like a man. Her voice, he would attest, was deeper than his own, and he was certainly not a man on the higher end of the tonal range.

The third card was the Tower, and for a moment he simply stared hard at the image printed there, wondering where in hell Vergil had gotten his deck from. He very well knew designs for the cards were done all the time, and that there were a million different decks to choose from, but he could honestly say he'd never seen the Tower represented that way at all. It looked old, and while it was stylized and no doubt idealized, as well, there was something that tugged at him about it, like a memory that just wouldn't surface.

He figured it was silly, to wonder about it, and placed it down, pondering its meaning among the two other cards already placed on the table. It wasn't making much sense, but then...Dante wasn't truly surprised by that. It never did. He even decided to look at it literally, by nothing but the images and the card names, and still there was nothing. So there was a chick that had something to do with balance, and a giant fucking tower that was _most definitely_ compensation for a small penis. Maybe she just couldn't find a man with the right equipment? He snickered at that, reaching for the bottle once more.

Sylvia droned away on the television, and he tuned her out as he pulled the fourth card, which was Death. It was reversed, in the set up, and for a moment he frowned down at the cards, still puzzling at the meaning. He didn't even know why he was bothering, if he were to be entirely honest, and sat back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. He figured it was because he wanted to see what everyone else saw when they read cards, and that, with his being what he was and everything, he just _couldn't_. It was damn annoying.

He moved to pull for the fifth, when the door opened with a soft click behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder, much like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, as his brother sauntered in. "Oh. Hey. I didn't think you'd be back yet." He sounded neutral enough, he figured, that he hoped Vergil wouldn't notice Dante had been plundering through his bags.

Vergil paused to remove his long jacket and hang it, raising an eyebrow, no doubt, at the neutrality there. "Are you deaf? I told you when I left I would only be gone a few hours."

Dante's answering expression said all it needed to; he hadn't listened to a damn word Vergil had said before he'd taken off for parts unknown. "I must have missed that part." It came out smoothly, regardless of what his face said to the contrary, and he moved to shove the tarot cards away. He didn't move fast enough, however, and Vergil made his way over before leaning to see what Dante had been up to with a snort, though Dante damn well felt him tense, ever so slightly, when his eyes found the cards laid out for all to see.

"Beer, tarot, and Sylvia Browne? Oh, Dante, what pitfalls of idiocy you find yourself in." There was patronization there, yes, but there was a note in Vergil's voice, underlying that, that Dante simply couldn't identify. "And tell me, little brother, what the magnificent tarot has told you today."

"Well." It was casually said, as Dante leaned back once more, against Vergil where he himself leaned against the chair, and he was honestly surprised when Vergil didn't skitter out of his reach, with how much of a touch-me-not the elder twin could be. "The way I see it, some chick's not getting laid the pipe the way she should." It ended with a grin that didn't quite reach Dante's eyes as he craned his neck, head resting against Vergil's chest, to get a good look at Vergil's expression.

That was when he felt the tenseness in Vergil's form relax. "I can say with full confidence, Dante, that you are the only person who would _ever_ interpret the tarot that way." It was said with a distracted tone, before Vergil reached down and scattered the cards from their formation. Dante almost protested at the action, until he remembered he _had_ gotten his hands on them digging through Vergil's belongings, and bit his tongue as Vergil gathered them and slipped them back into the deck.

If he hadn't known any better, he'd have said that Vergil didn't want him seeing anything more than he already had.

What surprised him more was the fact that Vergil didn't lash out at him for snooping, and instead moved to put the cards away. The tenseness was back, and Dante doubted anyone but a twin would have been able to see it, but it made him both curious and worried. He very well knew that Vergil was up to something underhanded - par for the course with the elder twin, really - but it was driving him insane, not knowing _what_. Asking got him stonewalled, because Vergil would change the subject or act as though he hadn't heard Dante's question. And Dante damn well knew the further he pushed it, the more it would back Vergil into a corner; that was when Vergil would start physically retaliating, and in all honesty, Dante was trying to avoid that, if he could.

Tarot cards stashed away, Vergil seemed to just blink away the past small bit of time, as though it had never happened. As though he were purging it from his memory, really, and Dante had to wonder if that wasn't really the case. Vergil was certainly crazy enough to have figured out how to do something like that. "What do you want for lunch." And there was that change of subject Dante had been waiting for, and he eyed Vergil a long moment over the edge of his bottle, before setting it aside, pushing his own worries and thoughts on the subject away for a while.

"I dunno. I'm not hungry."

"You're disgusting and a stick figure. You're going to eat if I have to shove it down your throat, you goddamn manorexic." Where Vergil got shit like that, Dante would never know, but Vergil's expression and tone gave no room for argument. Dante didn't doubt for a second that Vergil would do exactly that, if Dante kept protesting food. Vergil was fucking _insane_.

"Oh, what the fuck- Man, whatever. I don't fucking care." That was when the irritation leaked into Dante's voice, and he didn't even begin to hide it. Vergil's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, as Sylvia let the world know there was no such thing as demons. That, at least, took the attention off of Dante and Vergil snorted, rolling his eyes at the television.

"Yes, there are no demons, which is precisely why I stand here, living and breathing, today." He moved to the chair opposite Dante and sat (Dante would have used the word 'flopped'), obviously gearing up to bitch. "Honestly, the fact that people believe that idiot woman proves they're nothing more than pitiful, mortal sheep." He knew better than to include Dante in that ranking, with all the bitching Dante had done himself about her.

"Then why don't you goddamn do something about it." A brillant idea struck Dante then, and he leaned forward on his elbows, braced against the table. "Seriously. Why don't you find that bitch and set her straight." He offered a wicked grin, purposely exposing his fangs in the action. "C'mon, it'd be fucking awesome and you know it. Bet she'd change her tune really goddamn quick."

"Because, wibbler," Vergil said, pressing two fingers of one hand against Dante's forehead and pushing him back in his chair across the table, "I simply have better things to do with my time. Besides, idiot, didn't you know she's neck deep in the demonic? She _does_ know. She's simply in thrall to those who press her to say such idiotic things."

Of course, Vergil said that about a lot of people. Dante had begun to wonder if there wasn't some merit behind it after all, but it wasn't something he'd conceed to aloud, because it would just cause Vergil's head to swell and then Dante would have to listen to Vergil go on and on about how he was right.

"And just how do you know this shit?" Really, that was a good goddamn question. Vergil did know a lot of shit it seemed he shouldn't, and who was what where just happened to be one of those things. "Seriously, you say that about everybody. Now, I agree that Tom Cruise has lost his fucking mind from denying he's a fucking fag, but with everybody else? Yeah. How the fuck do you know this shit."

"Because, Dante," Vergil replied, patronization dripping from his voice, "I have things we in the big people world like to call connections. Who they are and where they lie are none of your concern, but rest your empty, shaggy little head with the fact that big brother knows more than you think he does." And that right there started the urge to reach across the table and slap his crazy ass silly. But Dante refrained, contenting himself with his bottle instead to keep from making a smartass remark.

Which was good, because Vergil had decided to drone on more. "And you realize, of course, it is more than just the famous. The capitol is rife with the same thing. We won't get started with the secret societies, as I fear your tiny little brain simply couldn't handle the information overload, but believe that the demonic realm has their fingers in more pots than you could ever, ever imagine."

Because Dante, obviously, had no contact with the demonic realm at all, being a demon hunter. But he kept that thought to himself, biting down on his tongue to hold it in by force. Sometimes he wondered if Vergil realized that, though Dante didn't have the book learning Vergil did, he had _the exact same brain_, being Vergil's identical twin, and theoretically functioned the same way, especially when it came to mental retention. He doubted it, with the way Vergil treated him like a drooling retard. But then...Dante did little to discourage him from that to begin with, so he didn't have much room to bitch. "Right. Well. Whatever. What about lunch?"

"You can wait. I want to watch the sheep." It was said with an imperious wave of Vergil's hand, as though he hadn't threatened to cram food down Dante's throat but a few minutes before. Dante gave a heavy, irritated sigh and slammed the bottle down onto the table (and earned a scathing glance from the elder twin) before swinging to his feet and making his way to the small, in-room fridge tucked away inconspicuously in one corner of the room, where he'd stashed the rest of the beer.

"Whatever you say, Cap'n Spanky." He straightened with a bottle in hand, before popping the cap off in that nifty with-the-hand trick he'd learned, just because it had always looked awesome. Who the fuck needed a bottle opener (Vergil) when they could do something awesome like that? "Just remember you're the one who brought it up."

It was answered with a finger pointed blindly in his direction. "Shut it." Vergil was simply lucky that was all Dante had to say, and he grinned around the mouth of the bottle, before shuffling in the direction of the bed.

"Oh yessuh, massah. Lemme know when it's eatin' time, massah. I'ma take me a nap, massah." He nearly choked when the pointing finger switched to the middle one and pointed skyward. That had been the last thing he'd expected Vergil to do, and for some reason that immature display of irritation set his worries at ease a bit, as he climbed onto the bed and moved on his knees to the far side. He snickered to himself over it, reaching up to wipe his face (he was going to smell like a goddamn drunk and it was all Vergil's fault), and flopped onto his back; the pillows from Vergil's side of the bed were confiscated and he used them to prop himself up, before going right back to nursing his beer.


	16. You're The Wanker, If Anyone Is

"This is the shit nightmares are made of." It was said in an awed sort of voice, one that made Vergil pull his horrified gaze from the spectacle in front of him to glance over his shoulder at his 'baby' twin brother, finding him exactly as Vergil had pictured him: Eyes wide, mouth gaping like he was fishing for flies, slack and loose in all the wrong places and just begging to be slapped around for the sheer stupidity he was projecting.

Vergil, however, refrained.

"You say that as though you don't touch yourself in exactly the same filthy manner every morning in the shower," Vergil snorted, returning his gaze to the sight beyond the cracked door of their hotel room's bathroom. "And you have the nerve to wonder why I take the first shower every day. God only knows I have _no_ desire to come into contact with the filthy mess you leave in the drain."

It was answered with a slap to the back of Vergil's head. "Don't be mad just 'cause I know how to let off a little steam every now and then. Totally not my fault you don't relieve any pressure there, bro."

Vergil growled, baring his fangs, before a finger pointed dangerously into Dante's face, right at the tip of his nose. And he was satisfied when Dante's eyes crossed to follow it, that stupid shit-eating grin fading from the younger twin's face. "You stay here, you wibbling retard. I'm going to go kill the filthy little bastard that decided our bathroom was a good place to throttle his manstick. And take this as a lesson on retaliation against your own disgusting self."

Dante's eyebrows drew together and he moved to follow Vergil, almost stepping on the elder twin's heels to keep up with him. "Hey, now, at least let him finish. I mean, all that work and you're gonna kill him before he gets the finale? Uncool. You know, maybe if you tried it yourself every now and then you wouldn't be such a priss when other people-"

It was cut off by the hand Vergil slapped over his mouth, and Vergil's eyes narrowed dangerously beyond it, giving Dante a long hard look at both the darkening color of his brother's eyes, as well as the sharp little devil fangs they both possessed. "Shut. Up. Just shut up. He's defiling my personal space and I won't tolerate it. He _broke into our room_, Dante. I would think you, of anyone, would understand the importance of our privacy. _Especially_ with the sorts of things he could have plundered through."

Dante's own eyes rolled over where Vergil's hand was still clamped over his mouth. It was an eyeroll that plainly pointed out that anything shady was Vergil's, as Dante carried everything that could get him in trouble in such a scenario on his person. Or kept it locked in the trunk of the car under the false bottom: He was many things, but he wasn't stupid with batshit like his brother.

Vergil's eyes narrowed further, and he was gearing up for a knock-down drag-out screaming match - Dante could see it building up steam. He had to stop it because he'd be damned before he'd listen to Vergil rant for hours on end about how immature, insufferable, and plain annoying he was from the elder twin.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and while Dante had been _damn_ good lately about not defiling Vergil in a physical sense, he felt he was justified in a back-step. Which was why he reached up with one hand, clamping Vergil's hand tighter to his face, the other reaching out and his fingers seaching for Vergil's eye sockets, as his tongue slithered out of his mouth and lathered Vergil's fingers with the spit he'd let accumulate within.

For a moment Vergil was so stunned he couldn't fight back. There was Dante's spit on his fingers, and God only knew what filthy infestations the younger twin was harboring. And his fingers were creeping to an eye socket, no doubt intending on gouging out his eyes for some asinine purpose. Vergil wouldn't tolerate it. He wouldn't! He'd had just about enough of Dante, from earlier that afternoon when the twin had badgered him into taking him to that ridiculous Dairy Queen, and then promptly shown his ass within, and then later when they'd gone to pick up supplies for the room at the local Kmart (loudly complaining how Kmart 'sucked so much worse than Walmart').

And so he was done with the younger twin's attitude, as he reached out and gripped the front of Dante's shirt, hauling him closer before swiping his intruding hand away from his face, the other pulling free of Dante's death grip and filthy tongue. It latched on to a hank of the shaggy mutt's hair, and he tugged, hard, ignoring Dante as he snapped his teeth at Vergil's wrist.

They scuffled like this a moment longer, stuffing fingers in nostrils, twisting nipples, biting and breaking skin when they could (and Dante's stupid, retarded ass had a bite like a pitbull), when the sound of a single, solitary zipper being pulled upward along its track made them both pause, Dante's teeth in Vergil's neck, Vergil's knuckle in Dante's eye, the other hand still tangled in his shaggy hair, and they both turned toward the bathroom door as the toilet flushed.

The door opened, and a face they both remembered - that of the bepimpled bellboy that had hauled their luggage to their room - came into view, and for a moment the twins could only gape, before Vergil gave another hard tug on Dante's hair, attempting to dislodge himself from Dante's teeth still sunk deep into the flesh in that tender spot between throat and shoulder.

And Dante knew that kid was a dead man. He could feel it the way Vergil's body tensed, like a cat getting ready to spring, with every muscle on alert and perfectly under his control. And Dante, while mostly the kind of guy who took the road of looking after himself first and foremost, figured he needed a little good karma, and just bit down harder, truly getting the blood flowing as it bubbled out from the corners of his mouth and ran down his chin, and consquently down the front of Vergil's shirt.

The kid was just as startled at finding them both standing there (in what had to look like a compromising position, Dante realized, trying not to think too hard about the blood he hadn't been able to avoid swallowing). He went pasty white, except for his pimples, which practically started to glow in the dimness of the room.

"Uh, uh, uh..." Struggling for an excuse, even after getting caught in the act, and Dante internally snorted, before releasing Vergil's shoulder from the deathgrip his teeth had had it in, at the same time grabbing a handful of Vergil's ridiculously stiff hair, wrenching his brother's head to the side.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll _run_." With it he tagged on a bit of an eyetrigger of his own, his irises going red, the sclera black as night and widening unnaturally as he did so. And he was pleased to see he didn't have to tell the kid twice when, after a squeak, it was like the kid had never been there, he'd exited stage left so quickly.

Vergil snarled from the wrench of his head and came back up swinging, unbelievably satisfied with the first dull thud of his fist meeting his brother's jaw, and swung in for another, feeling the retarded baby's nose shatter and press to the side under the blow. Immensely satisfying, that. And it was only after another that he realized Dante simply...Wasn't fighting back. This caused Vergil to pause, and in that pause Dante took a step back, reaching up and gingerly touching the sides of his nose, feeling how bent out of place it was.

The next moment had him snapping it back where it belonged, with a hissed 'fuck' and a seethe, along with a sickening crack that came across loud over the silence of the room, excluding Vergil's slightly ragged breathing.

"Oh, that was brilliant, wibbler," Vergil sneered, seemingly gloating about the blood that had crusted Dante's front, both Dante's and his own. "Now the bathroom's contaminated. Bravo. If you'd just stopped tantruming like the baby you are, he'd be dead by now and there wouldn't be any _filth_ there."

"Maybe." Dante's voice was stuffy, and his nose visibly popped and jumped as it healed itself. "Bud look ad id dis way. We repord id, ged da kid fired, and ged a free room and our money back. And dis way we don'd hab do dumb a body."

Because every time he and Vergil had to dump a body, bad things happened.

Vergil still glared darkly at him, but Dante knew he'd won when the lethal tightness left the elder twin's frame, and he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. True, it was all for karma, and it was gross that the kid had been choking it in _their_ bathroom, but he really hadn't felt up to dealing with the aftermath of body dumping. The last time they'd done it, after all, they'd gotten chased off by zombies.

Vergil reached up and rubbed at the wound on his neck and shoulder, which was stitching itself back together at preternatural speed, before jabbing a finger at Dante. "Fine. But I'd better not hear another peep out of you the rest of the goddamn night. Not. Another. Peep."

Dante mimed zipping his lips, before realizing how hilariously wrong that action was after what had just happened, and a snicker escaped him, pain shooting through his still healing nose. "Nod anoder peep. 'Kay." But his grin was self-satisfied as he followed Vergil as the elder twin swept from the room like a blood-encrusted, overgrown bat.


	17. He Lied About Death

It was a dream. It had to be. It had that surreal, cold quality that all of Dante's dreams took on, right down to the typical black and white color scheme. Before him, Vergil walked a few paces ahead, and Dante, wanting to catch up and not be left in this shadowy hallwall full of God only knew what alone, tried to pick up his pace. It was like dragging his feet through mud.

He called Vergil's name, and Vergil either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him. With the elder twin, one could never tell which was the case. Dante made to do so again, pulling in a lung-full of hot air that scorched on the way down, one that felt filled with cornsilk and water, and it was only then that he became aware of the heavy weight pressing on his chest. He paused a moment and rested a hand against the wall, which pulsated slightly under his fingertips, and gasped for breath, the other hand going to press against his chest where his heart beat like a jackhammer, heavy and fast and altogether too hard.

But he had to keep going, didn't he? He didn't know why, no, but he knew they had to keep moving. There was something important at the end of this long corridor they made their way down, and he couldn't let a silly thing like shortness of breath hold him back.

He pushed away from the wall and moved after Vergil once more, his breath coming a little easier (though that could have all been in his head, he supposed) and his feet moving a little faster. He couldn't let Vergil down, he figured. Vergil was counting on him for something, and Dante was tired of his elder brother's sniping about what a disappointment he was, if he was going to be completely honest.

Vergil paused up ahead, his back still to Dante, and Dante felt his heart speed up again, though this time it wasn't from a lack of oxygen. A shiver skittered down his spine, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he took in the sharp lines of Vergil's form, the tenseness of his muscles evident even under his jacket. "Vergil?"

Vergil turned then, a wide, humorless, and fangbearing grin plastered across his face. But it was his eyes that drew Dante's gaze. They were wide, hollowed, in that inverted color scheme of red on black. Focused there, he failed to notice Vergil's hands moving, and only when there was the slick click of metal did he tear his gaze from his brother's eyes, realizing he'd drawn Yamato.

"What are you-" He never got to finish that question. That grin still in place, his eyes still those unearthly shades and shape, Vergil brought Yamato up with a quick flick of his wrist and swung, the blade level with Dante's neck.

Dante's eyes flew open, some noise or another (most likely a scream) trapped behind his lips where his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. He was covered in a cold, sticky film of sweat, and he extracted an arm from underneath the bedcovers to press to his forehead, taking a few deep breaths. It was just a dream. And it made sense! Really, it did, as he and Vergil had argued all day, and hadn't Vergil threatened to lop off his head and be done with it about fifty times? Of course he had.

To prove this, he glanced to his right, finding Vergil just as peaceful as he could be next to him, breathing deeply (and not snoring for once) in sleep, almost looking innocent that way, with his lashes as long as a girl's (something their mother had cursed them both with, though girls seemed to like guys with long lashes, Dante had discovered) fanned against his cheeks like a shadow's breath. No bad dreams troubled the elder twin, at least. Dante reached over, to push a lock of hair that had fallen across Vergil's forehead and was tickling his nose, back into place, and paused, sure even that light touch would wake him.

And he knew - _knew_ - he'd never hear the end of it if he did.

Besides, it was silly to freak out over that kind of dream. Vergil would never do that, despite what he might claim to the contrary. Dante knew him too well.

Satisfied, and the dream taking on the hazy qualities they tended to upon waking, he laughed under his breath to himself and settled back, folding his hands over his chest as his gaze found the ceiling.

Sleep overcame him quickly after that, and it was dreamless, until his eyes fluttered open in the dark, and at once he was on edge. At first he could see nothing, his eyes blurred with sleep, and then they focused, and he realized Yamato's point hung above him like a pendulum, one held steady in Vergil's grasp. Beyond Vergil's face was a complete blank, his eyes shuttered and emotionless, as he held the blade that way, his arms high above his head.

This, Dante was sure, wasn't a dream. And he knew it was coming. He knew that any second he'd feel the cold steel bite into his throat, and the hot blood would bubble up, running down his neck and over his chin and down into his lungs as he struggled for breath, and Vergil would have done whatever it was he'd needed to.

Yet, despite the apparent danger, he found himself amazingly calm. Enough that he could see the tension in the muscles of Vergil's torso and arms, those few scars he had (from that night, and was that what haunted the elder twin so, as it did Dante?) standing out in sharp pale relief to the rest of his skin. There wasn't a quiver present, all the muscles locked into tight readiness, and for a moment Dante found Vergil's eyes and held them, finding that one of Vergi's pupils was huge, the other a mere pinprick, feeling the expression of sad acceptance take over his features, before the blade descended.

This time Dante jerked, sitting straight up in bed, his breathing heavy. What the hell. Seriously. Who the hell had two dreams like that in one night? It had been...Quite a while, period, since he'd had a nightmare, especially two, that shook him as badly as those two had.

He swung around to look at the other side of the bed, finding Vergil still there, and still sleeping, though he'd turned his back to Dante, and the younger twin, needing to make sure, leaned over, bracing one hand on the other side of Vergil, to get a good look at his face. If he'd expected to find anything there beyond the peaceful relaxation of sleep, he would have been sorely disappointed. Another lock of hair had joined the first, and Dante'd be damned but there was a small smile on Vergil's face - not a smirk or a tight pulling of his mouth, but a true smile - and, Dante supposed, that was probably the first time since they were small that he became aware of just how much they looked like one another.

He was amazed, too, that Vergil didn't wake, with Dante's weight pushing down on the mattress around him, though he counted his blessings. Finally giving into the urge from earlier (had he even been awake _then_?), he reached over and smoothed back the hair from Vergil's brow, watching the smile on his brother's face flicker and fade, though his eyes didn't open.

Satisfied, Dante lay back down himself, putting his back to Vergil. They were just dreams. That was all they were. He was silly, letting them get him worked up.

When morning came, it was bright and cheery, though Dante felt far from that himself. In fact, he felt downright exhausted, though he supposed he'd gotten more sleep than his body was telling him he had. With a stretch and a yawn, he sat up in bed before swinging his legs over the side as he swept back the covers, to feel something clatter and roll under his feet. With a pause he glanced down, and felt his heart stop dead in his chest.

Under his feet lay Yamato's sheath, and a few feet away, toward the end of the bed and as though it had been tossed there, lay Yamato. It's blade glinted cleanly in the morning sunlight, but a hand rose by reflex to his throat. Just what the hell had happened last night? It was a dream. A fucking dream. Vergil hadn't stood over him, intending on killing him. Dante flat out refused to believe it. No matter how much they didn't like each other, and no matter what kind of threats they made to one another, and no matter how they might bust each other up from time to time, neither one would stoop so low as to kill the other. Never. And nothing could change Dante's mind to the contrary.

He gave a snort, though it was far from humored, and rose to his feet, bending to gather Yamato's sheath from the floor. A few paces brought him to the blade itself, and he lifted it, as well, holding it up a moment to examine it more closely. It was just as clean as a whistle, and that was the way Vergil kept it. Despite it being out of its place, and despite that not being like Vergil at all, that proved right there that what he'd dreamed about hadn't happened.

Satisfied with that, he slid Yamato home in its sheath, feeling it click as it did so. For all Dante knew, with the way Vergil kept the thing at the head of his side of the bed (because he was a paranoid fuck), Vergil could have moved funny in his sleep and knocked it to the other side. That, honestly, was more plausible than Vergil standing over him, ready to whack Dante's head off.

Yamato secure, he moved to the other side of the bed, not in the least surprised to find it empty. He picked up the sound of the shower running, and shook his head as he propped Yamato where Vergil would find it in its usual place, giving a sigh. It'd be another damn hour before he got in there himself, and by then all the hot water would be gone. He'd practically forgotten what a nice, hot shower felt like at that point, because Vergil was just an ass enough to use all the hot water no matter where they were.


End file.
